All Chapters of My Billionaire's Ex Husband's Secret Heir: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

“So who carries the cost if they miss the revised ship date?” Henry asked from the screen.“Fabricator,” we answered at the same time.Maya looked down to hide a smile.I pretended not to notice.The meeting moved on.Capital release. Supplier allocation. Glazing replacement. Revised installation sequence.Rafael corrected one of my freight exposure numbers. I corrected the cash-flow timing assumption from his portfolio director. When he asked for the section drawing, my hand was already opening the sheet he meant before he finished the sentence. When I asked what happened to the west elevation if the shipment came in four days late, Rafael had already calculated the overlap with the second installation crew.If anyone in this room didn’t know our history, they probably would have seen an incredibly efficient partnership.Two people who thought in different rhythms but somehow kept arriving at the same answer.Not two ex-spouses whose lawyers were currently discussing the blood of the

An hour later, I was sitting on the edge of my living room sofa pressing an ice pack to Gamma’s cheekbone and seriously considering whether being an only child sounded lonely or aspirational.“Don’t move.”“I’m not moving.”“You’re talking. Your jaw is moving.”Gamma looked at me from behind the ice pack with one eye narrowed. The corner of his mouth was already slightly swollen, his left cheekbone had started changing color, and there was a small scrape near his eyebrow that made him look like he’d just walked out of an underground fight club instead of a design office with a travertine reception desk and complimentary peppermints.“If you press any harder,” he said, “the swelling won’t be the thing that breaks. My skull will.”“Good. Maybe you’ll wake up with common sense.”“I have common sense.”Noah snorted from the armchair.Reagan clicked his tongue from the opposite sofa.Even Papá, sitting in the chair by the window with one hand resting on the armrest, moved his mouth slightl

The door from the upstairs hallway opened.I looked over, expecting Max, but Mama appeared first.Her hair was slightly mussed on one side, proof that she’d actually fallen asleep beside her grandson instead of just lying there waiting for him to wake up. A thin cream cardigan covered the blouse she’d been wearing earlier, and she walked in rubbing beneath one eye with the tip of her finger.“Why are you all talking like funeral directors?”No one answered fast enough.Her eyes dropped to the phone on the coffee table, then moved to Gamma before finally landing on me, and from the way one eyebrow lifted, I could tell she hadn’t yet decided which one of us had just said something stupid.“What?”“Counsel,” Papá said.“Now?”“The review is done.”Mama let out a sigh so long I could practically hear our entire maternal bloodline expressing disappointment in the American legal system. “Of course. Because God forbid I sleep for forty minutes without a Moretti man finding a way into this ho

Morning came, and I woke up with three things on my mind: terms, Rafael Moretti, and the fact that Maxime Rivera had decided 8:12 a.m. was the appropriate time to stage a footwear crisis rooted in mental health.“I can’t wear that,” he announced from the bedroom floor, sitting on the rug with one light-up sneaker on his right foot and his left foot bare like he was conducting a small act of civil disobedience.I stood in front of his closet, still in my silk robe, my hair not yet fully surrendered to the brush, and the coffee I’d managed two sips of already feeling like a failed investment. “Those are your school shoes.”“He doesn’t have emotional support.”I turned slowly. “What?”Max pointed at the left sneaker lying crooked in front of him, its laces spread open like the casualty of a very small war. His black bangs covered most of his forehead, his cheeks were still soft from sleep, and his expression was painfully serious, which was deeply unfair because the child looked like a v

She sat on the low sofa near the window, perfectly upright, knees together, sunglasses resting in her lap. I took the armchair across from her instead of my desk chair because sitting behind the desk would make this feel like a meeting, and Noelle wasn’t a contractor who had shown up late to admit to a framing discrepancy.Noelle ... she is not the enemy.Well, if she were a terrible person, this would be easier. If she were cold, arrogant, or one of those socialites who wore people like living accessories, I could hate her in peace.But Noelle was sweet.Chatty in a way that sometimes made me want to pour wine directly into a coffee mug, but sweet. She had trusted me with her family’s project, tried to make me feel included at her mother’s dinner, texted me like Rafael was simply an intense man who needed to be handled like an expensive software update.Now she was sitting in my office because yesterday she had watched my brother punch her boyfriend.And she had no idea she’d actuall