All Chapters of The Billionaire's One-Night Baby: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Celeste When I opened my eyes, the room was bathed in a dull gray light—the kind that made it hard to tell whether the day had just begun or was already slipping away. My head felt heavy, my eyes swollen, and every breath I took scraped against the hollow ache in my chest. Amara lay curled beside me, her little face soft and peaceful, one hand tucked under her cheek. I watched her for a long while, the steady rhythm of her breathing the only thing that kept me grounded. At least she was still asleep. At least she didn’t see. I hadn’t slept much, not really. My mind had run in circles all night, replaying every word, every look, every silence. And though exhaustion pressed down on me like a weight, I was still grateful that when I came home last night, both Amara and Nathan were already asleep. They hadn’t seen my tear-streaked face. They hadn’t asked questions I wasn’t ready to answer. I didn’t want Amara to know. I couldn’t let her know. Quietly, I slipped out of bed, careful no

Celeste By noon, the house was full of sunlight, warm and ordinary, as if last night hadn’t unraveled everything inside me. I set the table for lunch, the clink of plates and glasses echoing in the quiet. Amara hummed a tune from the couch as she colored in her book, her voice a sweet reminder that life went on even when my heart didn’t. I tried to let the rhythm of the day soothe me—the smell of sautéed garlic, the steam curling up from the pot, the sound of the clock ticking steadily on the wall. I told myself this was all I needed. This was enough. But it wasn’t. Every few minutes, my eyes drifted back to the phone resting on the counter. The screen lit up with the same message I’d already read at least a dozen times. Good morning, Ms. Shawn. This is Theodore Williams. Just reminding you about the family dinner tonight. I look forward to seeing you there. I chewed on my lip, the words pulling at me like a thread I couldn’t untangle. Dinner. With them. With him. My stomac

Celeste The hum of the engine filled the silence, steady and low, as the city lights slipped past the windows in a blur. Amara sat pressed against me, her little hands folded neatly on her lap, her eyes glued to the envelope resting between us as if afraid it might disappear if she looked away. Sebastian drove with the same precision he seemed to do everything else—controlled, composed, his hand firm on the wheel. But I could feel it, even without looking at him. The weight of his presence. The pull of a silence that wasn’t comfortable, but charged, like the air before a storm. “Amara,” he said softly, breaking first. “Did you draw all of those by yourself?” She lit up instantly, nodding eagerly. “Yes! Mommy said Mr. Theodore will love it. And I made one for you too, Daddy. So no one feels sad.” The corners of his mouth curved, just slightly. “That was thoughtful of you, princess. Thank you.” Her laughter tinkled in the air, pure and light, before she leaned her head against my

Celeste The table soon filled with easy conversation, the kind that rose and fell like music. Bowls of soup were passed, bread was broken, and for a while, the house felt less like a mansion and more like a home. Amara was the loudest of us all. Her spoon clinked against her bowl as she leaned toward Theodore, her eyes bright. “Mr. Theodore, did you know I can whistle?” He chuckled, adjusting his napkin. “Is that so? Let’s hear it, then.” Without hesitation, Amara puckered her lips and let out a thin, squeaky attempt that ended halfway. She frowned, then tried again, louder this time. Nicholas burst out laughing, nearly spilling the glass of water he had just lifted. “That’s not a whistle, that’s a baby bird calling for food!” Amara gasped, swatting at his arm with her tiny hand. “It is too a whistle!” “Do it again,” Nicholas teased, leaning closer. “Maybe this time I’ll hear it.” Amara huffed dramatically, tried once more, and managed a shrill little note that actually carrie

Celeste The words still echoed in my chest—Do not waste it—when movement at the doorway pulled my attention. Sebastian stood there. His gaze swept the room once, but it caught on me instantly—then shifted to the man sitting across from me. The way his eyes tightened, the faint stillness in his frame, told me more than words could. He hadn’t expected to find us together. I saw it in the hard line of his shoulders, in the subtle flicker of his jaw. To him, this wasn’t just an innocent conversation. It was an intrusion. “Theodore,” he said at last, his voice low but edged. A greeting, but not warm. His grandfather lifted his gaze with calm composure, unshaken. “Sebastian.” The weight of unspoken tension stretched between them, and I felt suddenly like the thread caught in a tug neither of them acknowledged aloud. Sebastian’s eyes darted back to me, searching—urgent, concerned, as though trying to read what Theodore might have told me. I straightened, forcing a small smile. “We