The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife

Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Whiskey Won't Lie-1

Sean POW

The door slammed behind me with a satisfying

g crash that echoed through the penthouse hallway.

I stood there for a moment, waiting for what, I was I sure. Maybe for the sound of hurrying footsteps, for Angola's voice calling

my name,

Two years ago, she would have followed.

Would have appeared in the doorway with that mix of concern and stubbornness in her amber eyes, ready to continue whatever argument we were having until we reached some sort of resolution.

But the hallway remained silent.

I pulled out my phone, scanning through the banking alerts that had triggered my

initial anger.

Two years of marriage, and Angela hadn't touched a single cent of the money I'd transferred to her account.

Not the monthly allowance, not the "compensation" after our night together, nothing. The balance sat there, untouched, like some sort of silent accusation.

And now she wanted to move out? To get her own apartment? The thought made my blood boil all over again.

The elevator arrived with a soft chime. As I stepped in, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the polished brass - my normally immaculate appearance slightly disheveled, tie loosened, a muscle working in my jaw.

I looked exactly like what I was: a man who'd lost control of a situation he thought he had perfectly managed.

seat of the waiting town car. Peter nodded silently, already familiar with

"Metropolitan Club," I told the driver as I slid into the back seat of the waiting my preferred destination after difficult days.

As the car pulled away from Park Avenue, my mind drifted back to another time, another version of Angela.

She'd been waiting outside the student council room at Saint Paul's School, her dark hair caught in the winter wind, two cups of coffee steaming in her gloved hands.

"You missed dinner again,” she'd said, holding out one of the cups. The dining hall's closed, but I saved you a sandwich."

Even then, she'd been taking care of me, anticipating my needs before I know them myself. We were only th had that quiet strength about her.

When had that changed?.

thirteen, but she already

When had she become this stranger who refused my money, who spent lunch hours with Nathan Harrison, who looked at me with -such careful distance in her eyes?

of a helping hand. The casual familiarity in his voice when he called her,

and I pushed the memories away. Tonight wasn't about Angela, or Nathan, or the

available now. Please check your

about expensive whiskey and the blessed

1/2

Whiskey Won't

and Evan were already

"You look like shit."

pushing a gloss of Stacollan

seat, loosening my further. "What?" Exan's

took a long swallow of whiskey, letting it burn away the confusion in my chest. “She's found an apartment on 82nd Street.

shook his head. "The monthly allowance alone would set most people

touched it. I signaled for another drink. "Two years of

whistle from Evan. "Seriously? Not even after... you

That night.

way Angela had felt in my arms- soft and warm and

The way

moved in rhythm with my own, and how she moaned at every single sensation that shot through her had me feeling more pleasure than I had ever felt before. I hadn't ever done anything, even remotely as intimate with someone

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of the

21: Whiskey Won't

asleep that night

so elated

I

about the current status

was a very big possibility that I would become

I knew I

I confirmed. "Says she doesn 1 want

upstart from Wilson Investment's been

twist in

her health?" Evan's tone made it clear exactly what he thought

lately, I found myself saying.

exchanged knowing looks. How is the

instead on the amber liquid in my glass. "Angela and I agreed from

out bother you so much?" Evan's question cut uncomfortably close to thoughts I'd

she's being difficult about this. We can still be

friend while you build

slightly slurred. When had they refilled my glass? "She's always been there.

just what?" Evan pressed. "Can't just move on? Can't

down harder than I'd intended, whiskey sloshing over the sides. "Nathan Harrison is a second-rate trader who got lucky. If he

easy