Page 100 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

“Lucy?”

I look up sharply. Christopher. Standing a few feet away, looking impossibly solid and calm amidst the hospital chaos. His usual impeccably tailored suit looks out of place here, yet somehow reassuring. Behind him, lurking near the doorway like very well dressed statues, are two familiar faces. Elijah Reeves, his head of security, and Maya Chen, the woman who looks like an admin assistant but probably knows seventeen ways to kill a man with a paperclip.

“Christopher?” My voice cracks and I finally burst into tears. I stand up and wrap him in a hug. “What… how did you know?”

“Elijah monitors emergency services dispatch frequencies as part of his standard threat assessments,” he says calmly, as if this is totally normal billionaire behavior.

And it probably is.

The thought makes me laugh. “Thank you,” I whisper in his ear. “Thank you for coming.”

I finally pull away and wipe at my eyes.

When I manage some semblance of composure, I look at him again.

His intense blue eyes search mine. “How are you holding up?”

“I… I don’t know,” I stammer, feeling ridiculously grateful for his presence. Just him being here feels like an anchor in the storm. “They haven’t told me anything yet. Just said he collapsed.”

Christopher doesn’t offer empty platitudes. He just nods, his gaze steady. “I’m here. Whatever you need.”

I sit down, and gesture to the chair beside me.

He sits, not too close, respecting my space, but undeniablywithme. His security detail discreetly positions themselves further down the hallway, visible but unobtrusive.

We wait. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s… supportive. He doesn’t pry or push. He just sits there, a quiet, grounding presence.

Occasionally, his hand brushes mine where it rests on the armrest between us, a small, accidental touch that sends an unexpected jolt of warmth through me.

Finally, a doctor appears, looking tired but kind. “Ms. Hammond? Your father had a significant cardiac event.”

I stare at him. Confused. “What does that mean?”

“A heart attack,” the doctor clarifies. “We were able to stabilize him, but it was serious. He’s conscious now, asking for you. You can see him for a few minutes.”

Relief washes over me, so potent it makes me dizzy. “Thank you, Doctor. Thank you.”

Christopher stands as I do. “Go,” he says softly. “I’ll be right here.”

Dad looks small in the hospital bed, tubessnaking around him, the steady beep of monitors filling the small room. His face is pale, etched with lines of pain and fear I’ve never seen before.

“Lucy-bug,” he whispers, his voice weak. He tries for a smile, but it falters.

“Dad.” I rush to his side, taking his hand. It feels frail. “Oh, Dad. You scared me.”

“Scared myself, too,” he murmurs. His eyes, usually sharp and commanding, are clouded with something else now. Regret. Shame. “Lucy… there’s… something I didn’t tell you.”

“Is this about work?” I tell him. “Forget it now. It doesn’t matter! All that matters is that you recover.”

“No!” he insists. “In case anything happens. I need to tell you.”

I blink rapidly, barely holding back the tears. “Okay, Dad. Whatever you want.”

His grip tightens on my hand. “Years ago… things were bad. Worse than now. I was desperate. Cornered. I… I created some off-balance-sheet entities. SPEs. To hide debt. To make the company look healthier than it was. To get funding.” His voice cracks. “It worked, for a while. Got us through. But it was wrong, Lucy. Maybe… maybe illegal. If anyone finds out…” He closes his eyes, looking utterly defeated. “Morgan Weiss knows.”

SPEs. Off-balance-sheet entities. The technical terms slam into me, the weight of their meaning crushing. This isn’t just bad judgment. This is potentially fraudulent. The kind of thing that doesn’t just bankrupt a company, it sends people to prison.

Like my father.