my Billionaire’s baby のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

SIERRA’S POV A note. For me.The words did not feel real. They bounced around my hollow head as I stared at Marcus. His face was serious, carved from stone.Louis moved before I could. He stepped between me and the door, his back a solid wall. “Where is it?” His voice was calm, too calm. The kind of calm that comes before a storm.“Security has it. They didn’t touch it. They’re waiting for you.”Louis nodded once. He turned to me. His eyes were dark, unreadable. “Stay here. Lock the door behind me. Do not open it for anyone but me.”“But the guests—” I started.“The guests can wait.” He cut me off, his tone leaving no room for argument. He looked at Marcus. “Stay with her.”Then he was gone, the kitchen door swinging shut behind him.Silence rushed in, thick and heavy. Marcus stood by the door, his arms crossed. He did not look at me. He just stared straight ahead, a soldier on guard.My legs felt weak. I leaned against the cold steel of the refrigerator. Someone had come to the gate

SIERRA’S POVI woke up in his arms.For a second, I didn’t remember. The room was dark. The bed was soft. A strong arm was draped over my waist, holding me close against a warm, solid chest.Then it all rushed back.The note. The photo. The confession.Louis knowing. Louis holding me while I cried myself to sleep.My breath caught. I didn’t move. I just lay there, listening to the steady beat of his heart against my back. He was still asleep. His breathing was deep and even.Last night, after I said the words, after I told him about Katie, he didn’t let go. He just held me tighter. He asked me questions in a low, gentle voice. How old was she? What was she like? Was she healthy? Happy?I told him everything. About her first steps. Her love for strawberries. The way she drew pictures of the two of us, with a tall, faceless man she called “the maybe daddy.”He listened. He didn’t interrupt. When I was done, he kissed my forehead.“I want to meet her,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready. Ho

SIERRA’S POVThe sleepover.I watched them from the kitchen doorway. Louis was on the floor of the giant living room, surrounded by every pillow and blanket he could find. He was building what he called a “fort,” but it looked more like a pillow avalanche about to happen.Katie was in the middle of it all, giggling, her hair a mess, wearing one of Louis’s old t-shirts like a dress. She was handing him cushions, her little face serious with the importance of the job.“That one goes on the tower, Daddy Louis,” she instructed.*Daddy Louis.*The name had slipped out an hour ago, unprompted. Louis had frozen, a pillow in his hands. His eyes had shot to mine, wide with shock and a hope so vulnerable it broke my heart. I’d given a small nod.Now he wore the title like a crown.“Yes, ma’am,” he said, saluting her. He placed the cushion on top of the wobbly pile.My heart was a tangled mess. This was everything I had feared. The fast attachment. The blurring of lines. Katie was falling for hi

Sierra’s POVMy lips still tingled. An hour later, sitting across from Katie as she diligently spooned Cheerios, I could still feel the pressure of his mouth, the scrape of his stubble, the dizzying heat of his hands on my skin. Every time I glanced at him leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee like a man who hadn’t just turned my world inside out, a fresh wave of warmth flooded my chest.It was different now. The secret was out. The truth was on paper. And the kiss… the kiss had rewritten every rule.“Daddy Louis, are you coming to my school play?” Katie asked, milk dribbling down her chin.Louis’s eyes, which had been watching me with a dark, knowing intensity, softened as he looked at her. “When is it?”“Next Friday! I’m a talking tree!”“A talking tree,” he repeated solemnly. “That is a very important role. I wouldn’t miss it.”The ease of it, the domestic normalcy, was surreal. My daughter was asking her billionaire father about a school play while I tried to remember h

Sierra’s POV Diamond Trevane was not what I expected. I’d braced myself for another version of Celeste—polished, judgmental, cold. But Louis’s sister was all warm energy and quick laughter. She sat at my kitchen island, eating cold pancakes with her fingers, completely unfazed by the flour on the floor or Katie’s sticky handprints on her designer sleeve.“So you’re a baker,” she said, her eyes bright with interest. “Like, a real one. With ovens and everything.”“And everything,” I confirmed, smiling despite my nerves. “Mostly sourdough and pastries.”“God, I love carbs. Louis survives on espresso and sheer willpower. It’s depressing.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “And you’ve given him a daughter. You’ve basically performed a miracle. My mother is in there,” she gestured with her chin toward the living room where Nia Trevane was listening to Katie explain the plot of a cartoon, “having a silent internal revolution. She planned his life down to the politicall