Page 67 of Falling for Mr. Billionaire
Will he respond? Or will it be another silent gut punch?
I force out a shaky breath and shove the phone onto the coffee table, backing away like it’s dangerous.
“Okay,” I say, trying to sound calm even though my voice shakes, “let’s just… put it down. If he replies, we’ll hear it. If not, whatever. We did our best work, bestie.”
Vanessa gives me a look—part pity, part encouragement—but nods like she’s willing to go along with the lie if it keeps me from falling apart.
Seconds drag by, slow and heavy, minutes stretch into forever.
Then—
Ding.
We both lunge for the phone, knocking over a pillow in the process.
I fumble with it, my hands shaking so badly it takes two tries to unlock the screen.
And there it is.
Carter:I want to know the minute my child is born. Until then, tell me where to send the checks.
I read it once. Twice. A third time, hoping I missed something—anything—that would make it hurt less.
I stare at the words until they blur. The air feels too thin, like I’m trying to breathe underwater. No emotion. No apology. No “How are you?”, no “We need to talk.”
Just… business. Just money. Cold, detached words from a man who once held me like I was something he couldn’t live without.
Beside me, Vanessa mutters a curse under her breath, but I barely register it.
The world feels too quiet, like someone turned the volume all the way down and left me alone in the silence.
I blink hard, swallowing against the lump rising in my throat.
I told myself it wouldn’t matter. That just telling him was enough. That whatever his reaction was, it wouldn’t break me.
I was wrong.
Because with one text, Carter Volcor shattered what was left of me.
CHAPTER 18
Carter
“Mr. Volcor, you have some returned mail that needs your signature,” my receptionist calls through the cracked door.
I don’t even glance up from my screen. “Bit busy right now. Is Liam in?”
“Yes, sir.” “Have him take care of it.”
She nods and disappears. My attention snaps back to the email in front of me—urgent, like everything has been lately. The Harringtons are circling again. Sterling Harrington’s been trying to buy out our Edenton properties for years. He owns most of the city now, but what little we still hold? He wants it bad. Too bad for him—I’m not selling.
Sterling and I go way back. Grew up together. Played on the same football team, dated the same girls, even drank under the same bridge. People might call us friends.
But when it comes to business? He’s a shark with a bigger smile and sharper teeth.
My phone rings. Speak of the devil.
I answer without emotion. “Sterling.”
