The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife

She Left With His Baby The Billionaire’s Secret Scandal 314

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Christopher POV

The Italian villa was exactly as she'd left it. I insisted on that. The cleaning staff came twice a week, dusting and vacuuming, keeping mold from the bathrooms and insects from the kitchen. But they had strict instructions: nothing was to be moved. Nothing was to be thrown away. Not even things that seemed like garbage.

"Sir, the children's old drawings are fading in the sunlight," Maria, the head housekeeper, once pointed out. "Perhaps we could move them to-"

"Leave them," I'd interrupted. "They stay exactly where they are."

She'd nodded, lips pressed together in that way people do when they think you've lost your mind but are paid too well to say so.

Maybe I had. Lost my mind. It would explain why I found myself here again, alone on Christmas Eve, in a house full of ghosts.

I walked the familiar path from the front door to the living room, my fingers trailing along the wall where pencil marks still recorded the twins' growth. Each line had a date beside it, some in my handwriting, some in Angela's.

Ethan, age 3. Aria, age 4 and two months. Both, age 5.

The living room was still arranged the way Angela had set it up years ago. The oversized sectional where we'd spent countless nights watching movies, the twins squeezed between us. The coffee table with a faint ring where I'd once set down a hot mug without a coaster, earning Angela's exasperated sigh.

one who insisted on real wood,"

basic furniture care,"

Inside, Aria's collection of stuffed animals stared up at me with glassy eyes. Ethan's wooden puzzles were stacked neatly, just as he'd always left them. I reached for

any trace of that baby scent was long gone, replaced by dust and time. Still, I folded it carefully and placed

the bookshelf, a row of Dr. Seuss books stood alongside Italian fairy tales. I remembered

his heart too small?" she'd demanded

love properly," I'd explained, catching

Ethan

It was Ethan's favorite-blue with dinosaurs that changed color when filled with cold liquid.

small rubber pacifier. Aria had been almost three before she'd given hers up, and only after I'd convinced her that big

never broke that

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bedrooms remained frozen in time-twin beds with cartoon character sheets, toys arranged on shelves, glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to the ceiling. I'd helped them place those stars, lifting each child in turn so they could reach. Aria had insisted

signature perfume-Acqua di Parma Gelsomino Nobile-and instructed Maria to spray it lightly around the room once a

finger like a promise, before forcing myself to place it back. Beside the brush stood a half-empty bottle of the lotion she'd used every night, the one that smelled like vanilla

sweaters, the silk of her robes. The sundress she'd worn on Aria's fourth birthday, when we'd had a picnic by the lake. The faded jeans with a small paint stain from when we'd repainted the kitchen and she'd

the closet, wrapped in tissue paper, I found what I'd come for-a small box of Christmas ornaments the children had made. Construction paper stars covered in glitter. Popsicle stick frames with their school

delivered and set up earlier that day. Eight feet tall, just like the ones we'd had when they lived here. I'd spent hours decorating it with