The Billionaire’s Accidental Baby

Chapter 9: Controlled Demolition

Dylan POV

My cell phone vibrates violently on the granite kitchen counter. I grab it fast, assuming it is Isla calling to scream at me again. It is not her name on the screen. It is Marcus Feld, my biggest real estate referral source.

"Marcus, hey," I say, forced warmth flooding my voice. "I was just about to call you about the new listings."

"Yeah, look, Dylan," Marcus says quickly. His voice sounds awkward. "I am calling to tell you I decided to go in a different direction with my properties."

"A different direction?" I blink, my chest tightening. "Marcus, we worked together for years. We have three closings this year alone."

"I just heard some things, Dylan," Marcus sighs. "I don't want to get into it. Good luck, man."

The line goes dead.

"Marcus? Hello?" I stare at the screen.

Before I can put the phone down, it rings again. This time it is my bank manager.

"Mr. Winters," the manager says coldly. "We are starting an immediate loan review on your accounts. We need to recount every dollar owed to the firm."

"A review?" I ask, my hand shaking. "Why now? Everything is fine."

"The review is mandatory, sir," he replies, then hangs up.

I stand in my empty kitchen, the floor feels like it is tilting under my feet. This is the same kitchen where Simone and I got caught. I dial my lawyer's number. It goes straight to voicemail. I call again. Nothing. I type a text fast: Something is happening. Multiple contacts dropping me. Need to talk today.

Three hours pass before my phone finally rings.

"Dylan," my lawyer says, his voice distant and cold. "I got served this morning on your behalf. Moretti Enterprises' legal team filed a massive complaint against you for fraud and forged medical consent. It is substantial, you need to come in right now."

I sit down hard on a kitchen stool. "Moretti? You mean the billionaire?"

"Yes," my lawyer says. "They are going to crush you, Dylan. Come to my office." He says then hangs up.

*******

I call Isla fourteen times over the next two days. She rejects every single call until the fifteenth try.

"What," she says when she answers. Her voice is flat and completely dead.

"Isla!" I yell, pacing the kitchen floor. "You have to call this off! Whatever you told Moretti, whatever you gave his lawyers—you are destroying me! Do you understand that? Everything I built is gone in days!"

"You did that," she says quietly. "You did that the day you forged my signature. I just handed him the truth."

"I did it for us!" I shout, using the same old lie. When she stays silent, I let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, come on, Isla. Look at yourself. You are a boring, plain schoolteacher. You were boring in bed, you were boring to live with, and you couldn't even give me a child! You were just a tool to keep my life looking perfect."

"Wow," she whispers.

"You think you can ruin me?" I sneer, my voice filled with hate. "You are a fool if you think that billionaire cares about you. You are nothing to him. I managed you for years, Isla. I controlled everything because you are too stupid to handle the real world. You better get prepared, because I am going to drag your name through the mud."

"Don't you dare," she says, her voice suddenly turning sharp as steel. "You knew for two years that you had zero sperm count. You let me blame my own body while you secretly fixed it your way. That is not love. You are just a coward."

"You are nothing without me!" I scream into the phone.

"I am hanging up now," she says coldly. "I have papers to grade."

The line goes dead.

"Isla? Don't you dare hang up on me!" I slam my hand against the granite counter. The call is gone. I dial her back instantly. The phone rings out, going straight to voicemail. "Answer me! You think you have a choice here?"

I growl, tossing my phone onto the table. I face the empty living room. I need an ally. I pick the phone back up and dial Simone.

"Come on, Simone, pick up," I mutter, listening to the rings. "Don't do this to me right now."

The voicemail greets me again. I try her a second time, then a third. Finally, the line connects, but there is only heavy silence on the other end.

"Simone? Thank God," I breathe out. "Everything is falling apart. Marcus dropped his listings. The bank is checking my loans. Isla went to Moretti, and his lawyers just served me. I need you to come over."

"I can't do that, Dylan," Simone says, her voice completely stripped of any warmth. "I am actually packing my things right now."

"Packing? What are you talking about?" I step toward the window, my heart racing. "We are in this together. You said we would figure it out."

"No, you are in this together with a team of corporate lawyers," Simone snaps. "I saw the way Isla looked at us that night in the kitchen before everything haywire. She had this look, Dylan. She wasn't just mad. She was done. And now Moretti is involved? I am not letting my name get dragged into a legal war with a billionaire."

"You were a part of this!" I shout, my voice cracking. "You knew about the business debts! You enjoyed the luxury hotels I paid for with her money!"

"That was your choice, Dylan," Simone says coldly. "You told me the money was yours. You told me she was clueless. Turns out, you are the fool who got caught. Don't call me again."

The line clicks shut.

"Simone! Simone!" I scream at the dead phone. I toss it across the room. It skids across the floor, stopping near the front door.

I walk over to the liquor cabinet with shaky hands. I pull out a bottle of whiskey and pour a glass. I drink it fast, but I don't even taste it. I walk to the window and look out. The rain is hitting the glass hard now.

My phone buzzes on the floor. I walk over, pick it up, and open the new email from my lawyer. The text is short and brutal: Dylan, Moretti's team is not offering a settlement. They want a full trial for medical fraud and identity theft. If we do not respond by Friday, they will move for an immediate asset freeze.

I stare at the words until they blur. An asset freeze. Winters Realty will be completely dead by next week. Every single lie I told to keep this house, to keep my name, to keep my perfect life—it is all turning into the fire that burns me down.

I look at the empty space by the door where Isla's jacket used to hang. I remember how easy she was to manage. I remember how she always believed me when I told her we were just "cutting back" on expenses for her IVF treatments. She was so simple. She was just a tool I used to keep going, and now that tool has broken my entire world.

I sit down on the floor in the dark hallway, holding the phone. I have no choices left. I open my contacts, find my lawyer's direct number, and press dial.