Todos os capítulos de My Billionaire's Ex Husband's Secret Heir: Capítulo 51 - Capítulo 60

I took a slow breath through my nose, slow enough not to sound like a woman whose heart had just tried to escape her body through her rib cage. Then I lifted my chin, pulled my expression back together with whatever dignity I had left, and turned to Rafael.“The meeting is over.”Thank God.My voice came out steady.God bless expensive lipstick and well-managed trauma.He was still looking at me, and I could feel the question before he even formed it.No.I was not doing this here.Not at Aster House, not in front of frosted glass that had already proven completely useless as protection, not in a hallway where one of my employees could appear at any second carrying a bronze sample or a framing problem with suicidal tendencies.“Nina will send the minutes,” I continued, because apparently the part of my brain responsible for corporate survival was still wearing heels and carrying a clipboard. “Aster House legal will wait for the revised warranty language from your team. Capital release

My whole body went cold so fast it almost felt ridiculous. One second I was still standing in my own office, and the next I could already see Moretti letterhead, rows of lawyers in dark suits, custody petitions, court filings, money that could make the entire system sound like one giant machine with my son standing in the middle of it in tiny sneakers and holding a plastic dinosaur.“No.”“Sasha.”“No.”“We need certainty.”“You have eyes.”“That’s not a legal document.”I laughed, and it sounded genuinely ugly. “Of course. Welcome to Moretti World, where a four-year-old having your face apparently doesn’t count until there’s a lab report and a lawyer’s signature.”“Don’t twist this.”“No, let’s straighten it out.” I pointed at the door. “You leave my office, call counsel, and then what? Petition? Custody schedule? Moretti on the birth certificate? Your grandmother finds out she has a great-grandson and starts choosing Swiss schools before dinner?”“Nonna won’t touch him.”“You say th

Night came, and my house was as loud as usual.The TV was on in the living room. I’d already turned the volume down three times, and somehow it still sounded like robots were destroying public infrastructure for reasons that were probably emotional.On the rug in front of the couch, Max sat cross-legged in race-car pajamas, black bangs falling over his forehead, his round cheeks still a little shiny from his bath, while Legos were scattered around him like casualties from a tiny primary-colored war.“I said this tower needs a garage,” he muttered to himself, stacking a red brick on top of a blue one with the concentration of an architect who had just discovered an offensive zoning law. “If there’s no garage, where does the car sleep? Outside? That’s rude.”Gabriella was sitting on the couch with one leg tucked under her, wearing an oversized sweatshirt, her hair tied up carelessly, and the expression of someone who had already survived dinner, bath time, pajama negotiations, and one i

I looked at my son for a few seconds. “Maxime.”“What?”“Put that down before it falls on your head.”He did, but very slowly, with the expression of an artist being censored by the state.“Is he still causing trouble?” Gamma had heard him.“He’s rebranding a zoning violation.”“Good.”I frowned. “Good?”“Means he’s okay.”The simple sentence almost landed somewhere too deep, so I picked up my wine and finally took a small sip.“And one more thing,” Gamma said.“What?”“We’re coming tomorrow.”I stopped swallowing. “Who is ‘we’?”“Me.”“That’s singular.”“Noah.”I closed my eyes. “Gamma.”“Reagan.”My eyes opened again. “Absolutely not.”“Already decided.”“By who?”“Me.” A pause. “And maybe Papá will going too.”I stood up from the stool. “What?”Max immediately looked over from the living room because my voice had gone up half a level. His black bangs shifted off his forehead when he lifted his head.“Why is he.. maybe coming?” I lowered my voice again.“Because I have to tell him t

By late morning, my house had lost all rights to call itself a private residence.I heard the first car pull into the driveway while I was taking empanadas out of the oven, and Max’s voice immediately jumped two octaves from the living room.“THEY’RE HERE!”I didn’t even have time to put the tray down.Max appeared in the hallway wearing a clean white T-shirt, navy shorts, and black hair that Gabriella had somehow managed to dry earlier and was already messy again because apparently gravity had a personal vendetta against my son’s bangs.“Don’t run outside,” I said.“I’m not running.”He ran outside.“MAXIME.”The front door opened.I set the tray on the island harder than necessary, pulled off the oven mitt, and went after him while already feeling Latina mode knocking from the inside.“Max, if you go down that driveway without shoes again, I swear to God...”I stopped in the foyer.Mama had barely made it through the door and Max was already in her arms.“¡Mi bebé!”“Abuela!”Mama l