The Billionaire's Brat Wants Me-Chapter 259: Coochie-Related Death is Imminent… (But I’d Do It All Again)

The alumni hall was a sea of familiar-unknown faces, expensive perfume, and the low hum of a hundred conversations competing with a truly terrible jazz cover band. The Class of [Redacted] had cleaned up well—or at least learned to dress like it.

And there, at the center of our own gravitational pull, was our crew.

Trent, holding court with a group of former athletes, caught my eye and raised his glass. Marina stood beside him, elegant and sharp as ever, deep in conversation with a woman I vaguely remembered from the debate team. She gave me a small, knowing wink.

And then, of course, there was Avery.

She stood near the champagne tower with Chad—her fiancé, Trent's old teammate, a guy with a permanent easy grin and the relaxed shoulders of someone who'd never had a billionaire's brat try to steal him.

Avery's eyes met mine across the room. For a second, the old tension crackled in the air—the schemes, the manipulation, the hallway showdown that felt like a lifetime ago. Then she offered a small, civil nod. I returned it. Chad lifted his glass in a friendly gesture. It wasn't a hug. It wasn't a fight. It was a ceasefire, written in the unspoken language of adulthood and moved-on dramas. A first.

Val's hand, warm and sure, slid into mine. "Look at us," she murmured, her voice laced with amused wonder. "All grown up and not trying to destroy each other. It's almost boring."

"Don't worry," I said dryly. "I'm sure you can stir something up before dessert."

She grinned, unrepentant.

The highlight came when Professor Halifax—older, a little more stooped, but with the same piercing gaze—made his way over. He looked from Val to me, his expression unreadable.

"Tanaka. Moreau," he said, his voice still carrying that lecture-hall gravel. "I should have known you'd be attached at the hip. Some things, it seems, are immune to market corrections."

Val smiled, sweet as poison. "Some investments just keep appreciating, Professor."

Halifax's lips twitched. "So I've heard. The Otavio verdict made the Wall Street Journal. Applying the principles of asymmetric information to corporate fraud. I suppose you were paying attention after all."

"We had a good teacher," I said, and for once, I almost meant it.

He gave a grunt that might have been approval before moving on.

Later, during the speeches, Trent commandeered the mic. "Before we get too sappy," he boomed, "I just want to say—Kai, Celestia. Most of us in this room thought you two would either get married or get arrested. Turns out you did both, metaphorically speaking." A wave of laughter rolled through the hall. "And now, I hear you're upgrading from partners in crime to parents. So, a toast!" He raised his glass high. "To the future godfather—yours truly—and to the two craziest, most brilliant people I know. May your kid get Kai's nerves and Celestia's… everything else."

"Hey!" I protested, but I was laughing as everyone cheered.

Chad, swept up in the moment, added, "Never thought I'd see the day Kai Tanaka would voluntarily sign up for permanent chaos!"

"He didn't volunteer," Val called back, her eyes sparkling. "He was conscripted!"

The room erupted again. It was warm. It was joyful. It was, against all odds, healing.

My phone buzzed against my hip—a work call about a last-minute Meridian permit. I squeezed Val's hand. "One second. Gotta take this."

She nodded, already being pulled into a conversation with Marina.

I slipped out through the heavy double doors into the cool night air of the campus courtyard, finding a relatively quiet spot. The call took longer than expected—bureaucracy always does. By the time I hung up, a fine, misting drizzle had begun to fall.

The old brick paths darkened instantly. I glanced at the heavy doors, then toward the alumni parking lot. My car was only twenty feet away.

Old habits.

I jogged over, popped the trunk, and grabbed the compact black umbrella I kept there. By the time I turned back, the mist had thickened into proper, steady rain.

And there she was.

Val was standing just outside the doors, under the stone archway, staring at her phone with a slight frown. She looked up at the dark sky as the rain began to patter in earnest.

"Oh, come on," she muttered to the clouds, the echo of an old, familiar frustration in her voice.

In three strides, I was beside her. With a soft shhk, I opened the umbrella and held it over us both.

She jumped slightly, then looked up—not at the rain, but at me. The frown melted into a smile of dawning recognition.

"Hey," I said, my voice soft in the pattering quiet. "You lost or something?"

A giggle escaped her, bright and clear, the sound of a memory clicking perfectly into place. "What?"

"You're standing in the rain. Looking… tragically wealthy and damp. Seems familiar."

She wrapped her arms around herself, not from cold, but from delight. "I was looking for my husband. He wandered off. He does that."

"Maybe he was getting an umbrella."

We stood there, under our little portable shelter, the light from the hall windows casting our shadows long across the wet pavement. The same doors, the same rain.

"It all started here," I said, the weight of the memory settling around us, not as a burden, but as a foundation.

"Mmm," she hummed, leaning into my side. "I actually thought you were a… what was the word in my diary? A 'random, slightly awkward guy doing something nice.' Which, for the record, I still stand by."

I barked a laugh. "And I thought you were a terrifying, beautiful hurricane who'd mistaken me for landfall."

> "You thought I was scary."

"You were scary. You are scary. You sat in my lap and declared ownership in the middle of Econ 101."

She tilted her head, a mock pout on her lips. "I thought I was being hot. Mysterious and hot."

"Oh, you were hot," I conceded, pulling her closer. "Like a forest fire is hot. Beautiful, mesmerizing, and absolutely capable of burning my life to the ground."

"And yet," she whispered, her breath warm against my cheek, "you stayed."

"And yet I stayed."

The rain drummed a steady rhythm on the nylon above us. The noise of the reunion was a muffled, happy buzz behind the doors. Here, it was just us and the echo of a thousand moments that led to this one.

"So," I said, nodding toward the glowing doors. "Wanna go back in, or…?"

She looked at the door, then back at me, her eyes holding the reflection of every light, every memory. "Only if you're coming with me, husband."

"Always, wife."

I reached past her and pulled the heavy door open. Warm light and the swell of music and laughter spilled out, wrapping around us. Hand in hand, under one umbrella, we stepped out of the rain and back into our life.

And as we crossed the threshold, the thought was as clear as the sound of the rain:

If I had to do it all over again—the chaos, the panic, the sheer, world-altering terror of her—I would. In a heartbeat. I'd take the umbrella. I'd open the door. I'd let the hurricane make landfall. I'd choose the scarily crazy, beautiful, brilliant mess that is her...

...every single time.

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THE END.