Baby Daddy Roulette

Chapter 23

[Mateo’s POV]

I can't breathe properly.

We're standing in Selene's office and she's explaining how this destroyed her professional reputation. How her kids' faces are internet content now, betting pools and speculation like they're entertainment instead of tiny humans who deserve privacy.

And all I want to do is fix it.

Dios mío, I want to fix it so badly my hands are shaking, my chest is tight, and my brain is cycling through approximately forty-seven solutions simultaneously—none of them good enough.

But I don't know how to fix this. Don't know how to make cameras un-take photos or the internet forget or her boss unsee whatever he saw.

The silence stretches. Heavy. Suffocating.

Then Selene speaks, voice quiet but steady. "I need to understand what you actually want from this. From me. From... all of this."

She gestures between the three of us—this triangle we've formed without meaning to, without planning, without having any clue what we're doing. "Because right now it feels like I'm risking everything and I don't even know what I'm risking it for."

My mouth opens. The words are right there—I want you, I want the kids, I want everything—but Axel beats me to it.

"We want you." His voice is steady. "Not just access to the kids, not just to ease guilt. You. We want to build something real with you, if you'll let us."

And ay, he said it. Just said it straight out, and I'm nodding because yes, sí, that's exactly it—

"I think about you constantly," I hear myself say, and now the words are pouring out like someone opened a floodgate.

"About the kids, yes—obvio—but also you. How you laugh at my terrible jokes even when they're not funny. How you look when you're thinking too hard, that little crease between your eyebrows. How it feels when we're all together and everything just—funciona, you know?”

I'm rambling. Can't stop. “Like pieces clicking into place that I didn't even know were missing." My hand finds Axel's wrist—grounding myself—and I reach toward Selene but stop halfway. Not sure if I'm allowed.

"And I know the timing is shit," I continue, voice cracking slightly. "I know the circumstances are a disaster. Un desastre completo. But that doesn't make it less real. Doesn't make what I feel—what we feel—any less true just because the world decided to have opinions about grocery shopping."

Selene's expression is unreadable. That therapist mask she wears when she's processing. She's quiet for a long moment—long enough that panic starts creeping back in.

Then she says something that surprises both of us.

"Then we need to control this. The narrative." Her voice gains strength with each word, that steel core showing through the exhaustion. "We can't let some anonymous photographer and a bunch of internet gossip dictate what this is or how it happens."

I blink. That's not—I expected her to say she needed space, needed time, needed us gone. Not... this.

"I'm done being reactive," Selene continues, standing straighter now. "Done hiding. Done defending myself to PR and management like I committed some crime by existing near you in public. Done explaining myself to strangers who think my personal life is their entertainment."

She paces three steps—sharp heels clicking—then turns back. "If you're serious about this, about me and the kids, then we face it head-on. Together. We craft our own story before someone else does it for us."

Dios, she's magnificent when she's like this. All fire and determination, refusing to be a victim of circumstance—and I feel it again, that pull toward her that's been there since Philadelphia.

And also—I look at Axel, watching Selene with admiration mixed with desire—I feel the pull toward him too. That connection that's been building, living together and knowing exactly how to ground each other when the world gets too loud.

"What are you proposing?" Axel asks, voice careful.

"We go back to PR. Together this time." Selene's already strategizing—I can see her brain working, organizing, creating structure from chaos the way she always does.

"Give them something. Not a full confession or relationship announcement, but enough to shut down speculation and take back control. A brief statement. Clear boundaries. And then we build this relationship privately, on our own terms."

My mind races. This is bold. Risky. Very Selene—taking the thing that's trying to destroy her and using it as a foundation instead.

"You're sure?" Axel asks. "This won't make things harder professionally?"

"It might," she admits, and there's vulnerability in her honesty. "But hiding and pretending there's nothing between us is already making things harder. At least this way we're choosing the narrative instead of letting it choose us."

"Entonces—" I start, then switch to English because my brain's cycling between languages too fast. "We write the story ourselves. Take back control. Show them we're not ashamed or hiding or—mierda, this is actually brilliant."

"It's terrifying," Selene corrects. "But I'm tired of being scared. Tired of letting other people's opinions dictate how I live my life."

Axel nods once. "What do we say?"

And that's how we end up spending the next hour around Selene's desk, drafting a statement that says enough without saying too much. Acknowledging the photos exist without apologizing. Drawing boundaries around the kids—eso no se negocia—while confirming yes, we know each other, and no, that's nobody's business but ours.

"Should we mention Philadelphia?" I ask at one point.

"No." Selene's firm on that. "Keep it simple. Any mention of history opens doors we don't want opened."

"What about the kids?" Axel's voice is careful. "Do we acknowledge—"

"That they're mine. Period. Not up for discussion or speculation." She types something, deletes it, tries again. "Anyone who has questions about their paternity can direct them to my lawyer."

"You have a lawyer?" I ask.

"I'll get one if I need to. The point is creating a wall they can't cross."

We work through scenarios, anticipate questions, build a united front that doesn't reveal more than necessary. By the time we're done, my brain hurts from overthinking, but we have something solid.

"This could backfire," Selene says, reading through the final draft one more time. "Could make things worse."

"Or it could work exactly as planned," Axel counters. "Either way, we're doing it together."

I look at both of them—Selene fierce and determined, Axel steady and certain—and feel something click into place. Like maybe we've been trying to figure out the wrong puzzle, when the answer's been here all along.

"Tomorrow morning," Selene says, closing her laptop with finality. "We meet with PR together. Present a united front. Take back our narrative."

"Tomorrow morning," Axel agrees.

"Mañana," I echo, grinning despite everything. "We go to war with corporate bureaucracy and win."

Selene almost smiles. "Your confidence is either inspiring or delusional."

"Por qué no los dos? Fuck, sorry, I keep doing that—why not both?"

This time she does smile—real and genuine—and ay Dios, that smile does things to my chest that should probably be illegal.

We leave her office together, walking out into the hallway like we're heading into battle instead of just going home. But somehow it feels the same—preparing for something big, something that could change everything, something we're choosing to face together instead of alone.

And for the first time in two weeks, I don't feel like we're drowning.

I feel like we're swimming. Fighting current, sure, but moving forward instead of just trying to stay afloat.

Progress. Finalmente.

Finally.