The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife

With His Baby The Billionaire’s Secret Scandal 312

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"You should divorce him," I told my mother when she regained consciousness, not for the first time.

Her face contorted with anger. "Why? So you can side with that whore too? I won't give him to any other woman. He's mine."

The psychiatrist recommended a change of environment—a mental health facility in London, away from the toxic reminders of her failing marriage. I agreed to accompany her, to help manage my grandfather's company there while she recovered.

I called Angela before I left, wanting to explain my sudden departure maybe even confess my feelings despite the terrible timing. But all I managed was awkward small talk. She asked about my mother, expressed sympathy, wished me luck in London.

After hanging up, the truth hit me with brutal clarity. Angela had only ever been warm to me because I was Sean's friend. Without that connection, we had nothing to say to each other.

In London, I drowned in work and my mother's increasingly unstable behavior. Her moods swung between despair and rage, and I was her favorite target. It wasn't new-she'd been lashing out at me since I was a child, especially after fights with my father. Every slap, every cutting word from her just drove me deeper into my work giving me an excuse to spend less time at the facility.

Two years after our move to London, my mother jumped from the roof of the facility. This time, there was no saving her.

At her funeral, my father actually showed up, looking uncomfortable in his dark suit. I caught him checking his watch during the service.

"Seems like she finally found an effective method," I said to him afterward, my voice hollow.

I don't remember deciding to hit him. I just remember the shock on his face as he sprawled on the ground, blood trickling from his lip. That was the last time I saw him. The last time I called him "father," even in my thoughts.

What I didn't know as I dealt with funeral arrangements and estate matters was that Angela's family had gone bankrupt. The Wilson Investment Bank had collapsed. By the time I heard the news and tried to call her, to offer any help I could, I was told that Angela and Sean were engaged.

I should have felt happy for her. She'd finally gotten what she wanted-Sean had seen her at last. But all I felt was a crushing sense of loss, as if a door had permanently closed.

I threw myself into expanding Blake Enterprises, building it into something my grandfather would have been proud of. I dated occasionally, but the relationships never lasted. They all noticed eventually that I was comparing them to someone else.

Years passed. I told myself I was over her. Then I heard rumors about Sean and Angela's marriage-whispers of unhiness, of Sean's wandering eye. When an opportunity arose to expand the company to New York, I seized it without hesitati

Seeing them again confirmed the rumors. The tension between them was palpable. Sean's attention clearly focused on Christina whenever she was in the room. Angela's eyes held a weariness I recognized from my mother's-the look of a woman trying desperately to hold onto something already lost.

When I learned they were divorcing-that Sean had indeed chosen Christina over her-I felt a complicated mix of anger and hope. Anger at Sean for hurting her, for being foolish enough to throw away something I would have cherished. Hope because maybe, just maybe, I would finally have my chance.

This time would be different. This time, I wouldn't hesitate. This time, I wouldn't miss my opportunity.

This time, I would make Angela Wilson see me.

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Christopher POV

four months pregnant then, her belly just beginning to round

in the Italian countryside. Nothing too ostentatious-l wanted

a young couple expecting their first child. Well, children. We learned about the

had said in accented English, pointing to the grainy screen.

feeling it tremble in mine. Two babies. Neither of us

on the drive home. "I'll hire help. Whatever you

the passing countryside, her hand resting protectively

book on twin

for them. Perfect for

sweating and irritable. Angela had been uncomfortable for weeks, her ankles swollen, her patience thin. When her water broke at three in the morning, I nearly crashed the car rushing

to take in everything. I stood by Angela's side through it all, holding her hand, wiping her brow, feeling utterly useless against her

tiny, her face red and scrunched in protest, her fists balled tightly as if ready to fight. I touched her cheek with one finger, marveling at

tired smile. Then came Ethan, calmer but no less miraculous. He looked directly at me, his

sense. These children weren't mine biologically, but

'I'm going to

a promise-to them, to Angela, to myself. A vow more binding than any marriage

days in an endless cycle of feedings, diaper changes,

twins. Other days she was manic with energy, reorganizing the nursery at midnight or cooking elaborate meals no one had the appetite

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help, but Angela was resistant

eyes, hair washed for days. "I need to be the one

argued gently. "Just three nights

she relented, and those three nights of uninterrupted sleep made a world of difference. Slowly, the Angela I'd fallen in love with began to resurface- laughing again, singing to the twins, joining me for evening glasses of wine on

we'd established a routine that worked. My business required occasional travel, but I

for their first steps, first words, first tantrums. I documented everything, filling albums with photos that tracked their growth

T#

teased once, finding me reviewing footage of Ethan's first

miss anything," I'd replied, not taking my

with enthusiasm over something so small. But that was the thing about children-they

so did our strange

picnics by the lake, bedtime stories that grew

in the water while he kicked frantically, determined to master this new skill. Angela taught

me. Neither of us corrected them. It was easier

as more