All Chapters of ONE WILD NIGHT : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Maya’s POVThe morning after Victoria’s arrest felt like waking from a nightmare into an uncertain dream. Sunlight filtered through the safe-house curtains, and for the first time in weeks, I’d slept through the night without jerking awake at every sound.Alex was already up, making breakfast in the tiny kitchen. The smell of eggs and toast made my stomach growl—a good sign. The baby had been restless lately, responding to every spike of my anxiety.“You’re awake,” he said, smiling as I shuffled in. “How do you feel?”“Heavy. Tired. But safe.” I sank into a chair, both hands on my enormous belly. “Is it wrong that I don’t trust this feeling?”“It’s not wrong. It’s smart.” He set a plate in front of me. “But Victoria’s in federal custody. Judge Brennan denied bail. Walsh says the evidence is solid.”“What about your father and David?”His smile faded. “Still out on bail. Still monitored.”I pushed eggs around my plate. “So two of the three people who want me dead are free.”“Maya—”“I’

Maya’s POVThe house felt too quiet after months of cramped safe houses and constant noise. Our footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors. The nursery sat empty, waiting for furniture we couldn’t afford yet. But it was ours. At least for now.I spent the first night there lying awake, feeling the baby move restlessly inside me. Nine months of pregnancy, and I still couldn’t quite believe there was a whole person growing inside me. A person who would be here in less than two weeks.“Can’t sleep?” Alex asked softly from beside me.“Too much to think about.”“Your mom?”“Everything. Mom, the baby, your father…” I rolled onto my side to face him. “Alex, what if he’s right? What if we can’t do this?”“We’ve been over this—”“No, listen. I mean really think about it.” I placed his hand on my belly. “This baby is going to need things. Food, diapers, clothes, medical care. Your father has taken away your ability to provide those things.”“We’ll figure it out.”“How? You can’t get a job because

Maya’s POVThe morning of the interview, I woke to cramping. Not contractions—I knew what those were supposed to feel like—just a deep, persistent ache in my lower back and abdomen.“You okay?” Alex asked, already awake beside me.“Just uncomfortable. The baby’s been pressing on everything lately.” I struggled to sit up. “What time is it?”“Six AM. Interview’s not until two.” He helped me stand. “Do you need to see Dr. Chen first?”“No, I’m fine. Just pregnancy at nine months.” I waddled to the bathroom, feeling every one of my extra pounds. “But maybe we should have scheduled this for after the baby comes.”“We couldn’t wait that long. David’s still missing. Your mother’s getting worse. The longer we wait, the more control we lose.”He was right. But standing in front of the mirror, looking at my enormous belly and swollen ankles, I felt anything but powerful.The cramping continued through breakfast, uncomfortable but manageable. Zoe arrived at nine to help me get ready—doing my mak

Maya’s POV The interview aired at eight o’clock. By eight-hundred-and-thirty, my life was no longer mine.My phone didn’t ring it convulsed. A relentless stream of vibrations, alerts stacking faster than my screen could refresh. Unknown numbers. DMs. Missed calls. News notifications. Hashtags. Alex’s phone lit up in tandem, a frantic duet of chaos neither of us asked for.“Okay,” he muttered, rubbing his temples, “I think we officially broke the internet.”“Is that… good?”“Ask me when my blood pressure stabilizes.”A new wave of notifications hit. Our phones buzzed so violently they rattled on the hospital tray table beside my mom’s bed.“Turn them off,” Alex said finally, reaching. “Please. We don’t need this tonight.”But I’d already seen the comments tiny bullets disguised as opinions.She turned down 50 million while pregnant? No one’s that noble.Somebody give this woman a spine and a calculator.She’s a hero. Billionaires don’t get to buy silence.Girl is lying for clout, just

Maya’s POVThe first “client meeting” happened in a coffee shop three blocks from our house. Not a boardroom. Not an office. A cramped corner table with chipped mugs and the smell of burnt espresso.Alex wore his only suit—the one he’d been wearing for every important meeting since his father cut him off. I wore the one maternity dress that still fit over my enormous belly, trying to look professional while feeling like a whale.Our potential client was Roberto Martinez—no relation to the FBI agent—who owned a small construction company in Queens. He’d been referred by Caroline.“So you’re Alex Stone,” Roberto said, looking Alex up and down. “The one who told his billionaire daddy to go to hell.”“That’s me,” Alex said carefully.“Good. I like people with spines.” Roberto pulled out a folder. “My problem is simple—I bid on jobs, bigger companies undercut me. I’m good at building. Bad at business. Caroline says you can help.”Alex leaned forward, scanning the documents Roberto spread a