The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife

She Left With His Baby The Billionaire’s Secret Scandal 321

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Angela POV

The London cemetery was veiled in a gentle mist when we arrived, the pale blue sky occasionally peeking through clouds that drifted like lost thoughts.

I carried a bouquet of white lilies-Christopher's favorite, as I'd learned from David

at the funeral last year. Their fragrance filled the air around us, sweet and melancholy all at once.

The gravel crunched beneath our feet as we wound our way through rows of headstones, some ancient and weathered, others like Christopher's-still new, the wound of loss fresh in the earth.

When we reached his grave, I paused, taking in the sight of the polished black granite that gleamed even in the subdued light, his name and dates etched in gold. Someone-his grandfather, perhaps had left fresh roses recently, their crimson petals stark against the stone's darkness.

I knelt down, my knees pressing into the damp grass, and placed my bouquet beside the existing arrangement. A robin landed on a nearby headstone, tilting its head as if curious about our presence in this quiet place.

"Hello, Christopher," I said softly, my voice carrying in the stillness.

Sean stood a few paces behind me, head bowed, giving me the space to speak the words that had gathered in my heart during our journey here. The robin chirped once, then flew away.

"Everyone's lives are moving forward," I continued, smoothing a wrinkle from the edge of a lily petal. "David actually opened that surf shop he talked about. It's on the California coast-the 'Blake Wave Rider,' he named it. He sent us a picture of himself with his first student, both soaking wet and laughing. You'd smile if you could see it."

I pulled my cardigan tighter against the chill, my wedding ring catching a brief glint of sunlight that had broken through the clouds

was a pilot, and before that, veterinarian. She practices her

behind me at this

become his most treasured possession. Some nights, I find him

name with my fingertip, feeling each curve and line, as if somehow I could

many niemories-good ones, despite everything. The children spend

my

lives keep moving forward, like rivers finding their way to the sea. Everyone except you. You're frozen in time now, preserved in our memories exactly as you were. Sometimes

with the back of my

bottle of beer in one hand and two small glasses in the other. He sat down beside me on the grass, the leather of his jacket creaking

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headstone,

poured beer into the two glasses, offering one to me. "Remember. when we used to play together back in played hockey last week with some guys from the office. Lost

with

in toast. "Here's to past glory

beer onto the ground beside the grave. The amber liquid darkened the

strange," Sean continued, his voice thoughtful. "We're all headed to the same

looked at me, his green eyes reflecting flecks of golden sunlight. Christopher got there before us, but he made his journey count. What

hand moving to rest on my slightly rounded belly, feeling the subtle movements of

for my hand, our

decided on a name," I continued, my voice steadier now. "We're calling him Christopher. After you. Not because we're trying to replace you-no one could. But because we

across the stone. A butterfly-bright blue and unexpected-landed briefly on the headstone before fluttering away toward a