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

Angela to Italy. Angela was four months pregnant then, her belly just beginning

countryside. Nothing

expecting their first child. Well,

had said in accented English, pointing to the grainy

face had paled. I remember reaching for her hand, feeling it tremble in mine. Two babies. Neither of us

told her on the drive

the passing countryside, her hand resting protectively over her

that followed were a blur of preparations-assembling two of everything, reading every book on twin births I could find, converting an entire wing of the villa

wanted everything perfect for them. Perfect for

and irritable. Angela had been uncomfortable for weeks, her ankles swollen, her

gaze that seemed to take in everything. I stood by Angela's side through it all, holding her hand, wiping her brow, feeling

red and scrunched in protest, her fists balled tightly as if ready to fight. I touched her cheek

came Ethan, calmer but no less miraculous. He looked directly at me, his unfocused newborn eyes

felt a connection that transcended blood, transcended sense. These children weren't mine biologically, but in tha became mine

'I'm going to take care

to myself. A vow more binding

an endless

postpartum depression, sometimes staring blankly at the wall for hours while I tended to the twins. Other days she was manic with energy, reorganizing the nursery at midnight or cooking elaborate meals no one had the

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nurse to help, but Angela was resistant

dark circles under her eyes, hair washed for days. "I need to be the one caring for

I'd argued gently. "Just three nights a week. For

fallen in love with began to resurface- laughing again, singing to the twins, joining me for evening

established a routine that worked. My business required

steps, first words, first tantrums. I documented everything, filling albums with photos

T#

obsessed," Angela teased once, finding me reviewing footage of Ethan's

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

with enthusiasm over something so small. But

grew, so did our

established traditions-Sunday morning pancakes, summer picnics by the lake, bedtime stories

he kicked frantically, determined to master this new skill. Angela

they'd say to Angela, or "your wife" to me. Neither of us corrected them. It

me as more