A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss (by Gregory Ellington) novel Chapter 394

Chapter 394

Madison

I pulled away from the parking lot, tires crunching over gravel as Marlo’s disappeared in my rearview mirror. My hands gripped the steering wheel too tightly, knuckles white against the leather.

“Mom, who was that man?” Ethan’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.

I glanced at him. He’d buckled himself in without prompting, legs swinging, chocolate still smeared at the corner of his mouth despite my earlier cleaning attempts.

“Just someone I used to work with, baby.”

“He looked important. Like a prince! Or a king!” Ethan bounced in his seat. “Does he live in a castle?”

A laugh escaped before I could stop it, sharp and bitter. “More like a tower, actually. A really tall, really expensive tower.”

“Cool! Can we visit?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Because princes and kings are overrated.” I merged onto the main road, watching the restaurant fade in my mirrors. “They think they can show up wherever they want, whenever they want, and everyone should just be thrilled about it.”

“I’d be thrilled if a prince showed up. I’d show him my volcano project!”

“Your volcano project is way more interesting than any prince, trust me.”

Ethan considered this seriously. “Yeah, it is pretty awesome. Miss Daisy said I might win the science fair.”

“You definitely might.” I forced my voice to stay light, normal, like my entire world hadn’t just tilted sideways in a parking lot. “Tell me more about your project.”

He launched into an enthusiastic explanation involving baking soda, vinegar, and construction paper painted to look like lava. I listened with half my attention, the other half stuck on Alexander’s face as he’d looked at Ethan.

Had he figured it out? Could he do the math?

“And then the lava goes BOOM!” Ethan threw his hands up for emphasis. “Right out the top!”

“That sounds incredible.”

“Can we make a real volcano? Like a huge one in the backyard?”

“No.”

“But Mom!”

“Ethan, we are not excavating the backyard to create geological features. Grandma would kill me.‘

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He pouted but didn’t argue further, returning to his discussion of volcanic activity and whether dinosaurs had witnessed eruptions. I let him talk, grateful for the distraction.

As we pulled into the driveway, the house appeared unchanged, safe and normal, a stark contrast to the Manhattan penthouses and billion–dollar deals.

“Race you inside!” Ethan unbuckled himself and bolted for the door before I could respond.

Inside, my mother looked up from her book. “You’re back early. How was dinner?”

“Good. Ethan got chocolate everywhere.”

“I did not!” Ethan’s voice carried from the living room where he’d already planted himself in front of the TV. “I was very neat!”

My mother raised an eyebrow at the chocolate still visible on his face.

“Very neat is a relative term,” I muttered, dropping my purse on the counter. “Can you keep an eye on him?”

“Of course.” She studied my face. “Everything okay?”

“Fine. Just tired. I’ll be in my bedroom for a while. Keep an eye on Ethan?”

“Sure, honey.”

I closed the bedroom door behind me with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around them.

Alexander had seen Ethan. No avoiding that fact.

Had he figured it out?

I pressed my forehead against my knees, breathing slowly. The math was simple. Anyone with basic addition could do it. Ethan was four. We’d been apart for five years. The timeline lined up perfectly if Alexander bothered to calculate.

But maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d assume I’d gotten pregnant after leaving New York, met someone, moved on. That’s what normal people would think.

Except Alexander wasn’t a normal person. He was observant, detail–oriented, and suspicious by nature. The kind of man who noticed when I wore the same dress twice in one week or changed my coffee order.

“Stop,” I muttered into my knees. “This is pointless.”

Speculation got me nowhere. Either Alexander had figured it out, or he hadn’t. Either he’d pursue the truth, or he’d disappear back to Manhattan and his fiancée and his multi–billion–dollar empire.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I stared at it like it might explode. Another buzz. Then a third.

With shaking hands, I reached for it.

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I opened the message.

Alexander: I want to talk with you. Is it possible to meet tomorrow?

I typed and deleted three responses before settling on something neutral.

Me: What do you want to talk about?

The response came immediately, like he’d been waiting.

Alexander: We can talk tomorrow.

Classic Alexander. Demanding a meeting without explaining why. Expecting me to rearrange my life because he’d decided he wanted conversation.

I stared at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Part of me wanted to tell him no. To block this number. To maintain the boundaries I’d spent years building.

But another part, the part that remembered how Ethan’s eyes were the exact same shade as his father’s, knew this conversation was inevitable.

Me: Fine. Where?

Alexander: Your choice.

At least he was giving me that much control. Small mercies.

I thought about it. Not the café. Too public, too many regulars who knew me. Not my home. Absolutely not with Ethan there. Somewhere neutral. Somewhere I could leave if things went sideways.

Me: There’s a park on Riverside Drive. Near the waterfront. 2pm.

Alexander: I’ll be there.

I set the phone down and pressed my palms against my eyes. Tomorrow at two, I’d face Alexander Knight and whatever questions he’d come armed with.

The smart thing would be to deny everything. Ethan was mine. My son. My responsibility. Alexander had mad his choices when he’d gotten engaged to Katherine without a word.

But lying to Alexander’s face about our son felt wrong in a way I couldn’t articulate. Like crossing a line I couldn’t uncross.

“Mom?” Ethan’s voice came through the door, accompanied by a gentle knock. “Can I come in?”

I quickly wiped my face. “Yeah, baby. Come in.”

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