Fake Dating the Hollywood Billionaire のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 81 - チャプター 90

Ronan's POVI sat in my car outside the Seaside Inn for twenty minutes before I could make myself go inside.The truth was, I was terrified.Not of Isabelle—I'd dealt with her before, knew her games, her manipulations. We'd burned bright and fast eight years ago, then crashed even faster. She was beautiful and brilliant and exhausting, and I'd been relieved when it ended.But a child. My child.That was different.I kept thinking about that photo Isabelle had shown me. The little girl with dark curls and my dimples. Amélie. Even her name felt foreign in my mouth.What if she hated me? What if she asked why I'd never been there, and I had to explain that I hadn't known she existed? What seven-year-old would understand that?What if I was terrible at this?I'd never wanted kids. Not really. I'd told myself it was because my career came first, because I liked my freedom, because the world was too complicated to bring children into.But the real reason was simpler and more pathetic: I was

Sarra's POVAdrian took me shopping the next morning."Absolutely not," I said when he suggested it. "You've already spent enough money on me.""I've spent money *with* you," he corrected, steering me toward a boutique with mannequins wearing clothes that probably cost more than my monthly rent. "There's a difference. Besides, when's the last time you bought yourself something just because you wanted it?"I couldn't remember. Most of my clothes were practical—jeans and sweaters, things that could be thrown in the wash and forgotten. Ronan had never cared what I wore. He'd always said I looked beautiful in anything, which was sweet but also meant he never really *looked*."I don't need new clothes," I protested weakly as Adrian held the door open."Need and want are different things. Today, we're focusing on want."The boutique was the kind of place I'd normally walk past without entering—all minimalist decor and soft lighting and prices that weren't displayed because if you had to ask

Sarra's POVAdrian didn't ask questions when I got back in the car.He just drove, heading north along the coast road, away from the cottage and Ronan and the ghost of what we'd been building for the past eleven months.Eleven months. Not even a year. It felt longer. Felt like a lifetime when I thought about how quickly I'd rearranged my entire existence around him. How I'd moved to this tiny coastal town where I knew no one, left behind my friends and my apartment and my life because Ronan said he needed peace and quiet after Hollywood.How I'd made myself fit into his world instead of building one of my own."Where do you want to go?" Adrian finally asked."I don't know. Somewhere that isn't here."He nodded and kept driving.The ocean was black beside us, visible only where moonlight caught the waves. I pressed my forehead against the cool window and tried not to think about Amélie's face when I'd handed her the hot chocolate. The way she'd looked at Ronan like he hung the moon. T

Ronan's POVThe DNA test took fifteen minutes.Fifteen minutes to confirm what I already knew, what Isabelle had been telling me, what Amélie's hazel eyes had been showing me since the moment she walked through my door.She was mine.The technician had been efficient and kind, swabbing the inside of my cheek while Amélie watched with curious interest. Isabelle had held her hand the whole time, murmuring reassurances in French that I only half understood. We'd get the official results in a few days, but the technician's sympathetic smile told me everything I needed to know.I had a daughter.The weight of it sat on my chest like a stone as I drove away from the clinic. Isabelle had taken Amélie for ice cream—a reward for being brave, she'd said—and I'd declined to join them. I needed to see Sarra. Needed to tell her that it was real, that everything was about to change, that I was sorry for all of it.I'd stopped at a flower shop on the way home. It felt inadequate, buying flowers when

Sarra's POVThe seaweed wrap was exactly as weird as it sounded.I lay there like a burrito, covered in what smelled like the ocean floor, while a woman named Crystal hummed and told me to "release my tension into the earth." I wasn't sure how to do that, but I nodded anyway because Crystal seemed very invested in my tension's journey.Maya had already finished her treatment and was probably day-drinking at the wine bar. She'd texted me a picture of a cheese board that did, in fact, look the size of her head. Multiple types of brie were involved. I'd never been more motivated to finish a spa treatment in my life.My phone buzzed on the small table beside me. Crystal gave it a disapproving look."Electronic devices disrupt the healing energy," she said."Right. Sorry." But I looked anyway.Adrian: "How's the spa life treating you?""Currently wrapped in seaweed and questioning my life choices.""Sounds therapeutic.""Smells like low tide.""Even better. Listen, I'm going to be in your