The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife

Chapter 22

The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife-

Chapter 22: A Late Night Call

Angela POV

Ever since Christina's setur, Sean rarely spent his nights at home.

After he stormed out earlier today, I knew he must be with her again I couldn't understand why he insisted I stay in this apartment, why he was even offering to give me the property.

Tidn't he realize how cruel that vas?

The one left behind always suffers more, don't they?

I would rather move out on my own, start fresh somewhere new and et these wounds heal faster.

Sarah approached me with her usual quiet efficiency. Should I help you unpack your suitcase, Mrs. Shaw?"

"No need," I replied softly. "I'm just postponing the move by a few days. I'll be leaving eventually anyway."

Sarah nodded, her eyes holding a mix of understanding and sympathy as she helped carry my suitcase back to my bedroom.

This simple action made me feel like a hotel guest. That's what I had become in this place a temporary occupant, waiting for checkout time. Even in what had been my home for two years, I was already feeling like a stranger passing through.

My phone buzzed against the marble nightstand, its gentle vibration seeming thunderous in the quiet room.

I hesitated, my heart rate quickening. Would it be Christina again, calling to gloat about another evening with Sean?

The name that appeared on the screen surprised me: Evan White.

I answered on the third ring. "Evan?"

Angela." His voice carried the careful neutrality I'd come to associate with bad news. "I apologize for calling so late, but... it's Sean

tightened on the phone. "What

had... quite a bit to drink." Evan paused. "More than I've

I'd never seen him truly drunk.

sure Christina can handle it," I said, trying

isn't here yet." Evan paused. “He's... not himself

heard another male voice in the background - William's unmistakable drawl. "I told you we should

voice softened as he addressed me again. Angela, please...

hesitated. Part of me wanted to refuse, to let Christina handle this like

1/3

22: A

the part that still

there

respond, already moving to my closet. lipped on

my palm. I could have called Pet, our longtime driver,

were relatively empty at this hour, the usual chaps reduced

merged onto Fifth Avenue, my mind wandered to earlier that day. Had Sean's uncharacteristic drinking been triggered by Nathan's

through my chest.

brake hard. The Porsche's tires squealed against wet pavement,

over, hands shaking on the steering

I whispered to myself. "You're carrying

found a parking spot on Park Avenue, the cold night air biting through my silk

clubs entrance was still active despite the late hour, clusters of Wall Street's elite lingering over last

eye Christina Jordan, hurrying toward the entrance in four-inch Louboutins, her red hair a flame in the

across the quiet street. "Sean never drinks

stood in the doorway, his usual smooth charm replaced by genuine concern. "You think we didn't try to stop him? But, you know Sean - he doesn't listen to anyone except

"Some

elite businessmen

you all are," Christina scoffed, though her voice held more worry than bite.

college freshmen."

could respond, Sean appeared in the doorway, his usually immaculate appearance disheveled, tie

"Sean." Christina's