The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife

Chapter 150

Chapter 150: Old Feelings Die Hard

Sean POV

I stood frozen in the doorway of my Four Seasons penthouse suite, watching Angela storm away without a word. The elevator doors slid shut on her retreating figure, leaving confusion swirling in my mind.

What the hell just happened?

One minute we were dissecting investment proposals, the next she was bolting like I'd set the room on fire.

Her sudden shift gnawed at me. Unless... Had Christopher Blake gotten to her? The thought ignited a blaze of anger in my chest, my hands curling into fists.

No one meddled in my affairs-and Angela, despite our tangled history, was still mine to handle. This wasn't over.

My lips pressed into a hard line as I strode toward the elevator, determined to catch her before she slipped away. Whatever had sparked this, I'd drag the truth out of her tonight.

My phone buzzed relentlessly in my pocket, halting my pursuit. I yanked it out, answering with a sharp,

"What?"-my voice a blade of cold authority.

Silence stretched for a beat before a tentative female voice broke through.

"Sean, it's me."

"Christina." Not a question-a fact.

"Yes. You sound upset. Is something wrong?" Her tone softened. "I've been calling, but you didn't answer."

My mind sharpened instantly. "You've been calling me repeatedly?"

once or twice, but when you didn't pick up, I got worried," she said, her voice syrupy. "I kept trying. You're not angry, are you? I

my phone-missed calls from

Her abrupt exit clicked into

like that again," I ordered, my tone leaving no room for

Sean. I was just worried something

I cut her off. "If something had happened, how would spamming my phone

more. "I have bigger things to deal with." I ended the call and

cared. A flicker of satisfaction curled my lips. Her jealousy was a confession scrawled in bold

loomed dim and shadowed. I spotted her instantly-her slender frame cutting

1/3

150: Old Feelings Die

in seconds. As she yanked the car door open, I slammed it shat with one farceful sherre, pinning het betre the cold

squirmed, her hands shoving against my

snapped, her voice tight. Her eyes darted to whet my fingers damped her wrist, but she twisted her face empy. refusing to meet my

wasn't having it. My free hand shot up, gripping her chin firmly, furing her head back until her hazel

need to talk

breath hitching.

crime scene, I said, "Was it those calls

fingers. "Why would I care about your

it?" I pressed, my thumb brushing the edge of her lip, feeling the faint

too fast, her

stirred at the feel of her body wriggling against me, her curves grinding into me with

other hand sliding from her

murmured, voice dropping to a possessive growl, "why'd you turn to ice

breasts pressed against my chest as she fought to

mine, like she was carved for me. My breath