The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife

Chapter 94

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The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex Wife

Chapter 94: When She's Gone

I stood in the private elevator for what felt like hours, my finger hovering over the penthouse button.

The thou

The thought of stepping into that empty space-knowing Angela wouldn't be there- made my chest tighten painfully.

No more gentle scent of her jasmine tea wafting through the halls, the soft click of her heels against the marble floors, no warm smile welcoming me home,

When I finally forced myself to press the button, each floor the elevant passed felt like another weight added to my shoulders.

The doors opened to reveal out-no, my penthouse now. Even the airtelt different, heavier somehow, as if the very space knew its

Sarah emerged from the kitchen, her usual warns smile replaced by careful neutrality. "Welcome home, Mr. Shaw Would you like

dinner?"

Did she

did she come back today?" I tried to keep my voice steady, though the words felt thick in my throat.

"Yes, Mr. Shaw," Sarah's voice was gentle, almost pitying. "Mrs. Shave came by this afternoon to collect some of her belongings." She hesitated, then added softly, "She didn't stay long."

I nodded curtly, loosening my tie as I strode toward our master suite. The bedroom door swung open silently, revealing a space that looked almost unchanged at first glance.

But the small absences began to register: her tablet missing from the bedside table, the vanity cleared of her elegant perfume bottles, the chair where she often sat to read now bare of her cashmere throw.

My eyes caught on something glinting on the dresser.

The check I'd written her lay untouched, alongside the platinum credit card Mother had insisted she keep "for emergencies." Beside them, catching the last rays of sunset through our floor-to-ceiling windows, lay her wedding ring.

I picked up the ring with trembling fingers. Michael had helped me choose it-a custom Cartier design with a cushion-cut diamond that had reminded me of starlight caught in crystal.

never told Angela that I'd spent weeks selecting it, even though our marriage was supposed to be just a

gowns-dozens of them, each carefully chosen for

galas.

last year's Metropolitan Opera gala. She'd been radiant that night, drawing admiring glances from New York's elite while maintaining

climbers.

the back of a drawer, I found our wedding photo, carefully preserved. Angela's face glowed with a

had trembled slightly as wed exchanged rings, how she'd smiled up at me with such

her lavender body wash still clinging to the pillows, the dog-eared novel on her

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94: When She's

detail felt like a precise dut, small but devastating in

my choices-every moment I'd chosen Christina over Angela, every time I'd dismissed her feelings or taken her loyalty for granted-pressed down

my hand as I pulled up Angela's number. I'd They're taking up space. If

that might at least get her to

the

went straight

carefully: "You left some

rown out."

the same response. The image of them together somewhere, deliberately

my phone across the room, taking grim satisfaction in the

Morning brought no relief.

absence creating a void that even the usual bustle of corporate life couldn't

empty desk through my office window, umembering how she'd organize my schedule with quiet efficiency, anticipating

I called out, my voice

than intended. "I need you

do that, Mr. Shaw." He

movements.

"I'm here t

submit my resignation, effective

mind struggled to process

folder. "Mrs. Wilson prepared

mention of her maiden name. “She promised to

speak freely, sir, Michael interrupted, his

exceptional