Chasing His Pregnant Love

Ophelia’s POV

I tricked my billionaire husband into signing divorce papers—he had no idea.

"Exam documents," I lied.

His ex-wife smirked. "Boring paperwork. Don't bother reading it."

He signed without a glance.

Three years. I thought he'd learn to love me. But ever since she came back, my dinners went cold, my bed stayed empty, and he ran to her with every call.

Then I found out I was pregnant.

That same day, at the hospital, I saw him holding her hand—asking about her baby.

She was pregnant too. But only one of us mattered to him.

I'm done being her stand-in. I packed one suitcase and vanished.

When he finally read those papers, he turned the city upside down searching for me.

Too late. His wife is already a ghost—carrying his twins somewhere he'll never find.

The music is so loud my eardrums ache.

Rafferty hates noise. Hates parties. Hates anything that disrupts his carefully controlled world. Three years of marriage—I know this better than anyone.

But tonight, the living room is packed with strangers.

It all started when Briar came back.

"Hey, sweetheart!"

A man steps into my path. His tie is crooked, and he reeks of whiskey.

"Love the uniform." His eyes crawl over me. "But this isn't really the place for minors, you know? Wouldn't want to catch a case."

I shove him aside.

He stumbles back. "What the f—"

I don't bother looking back. I just need to find Rafferty. Get him to sign those papers.

And there she is. Center of the crowd.

Briar Holloway. Chestnut waves tumbling down her back. A backless evening gown. A butterfly tattoo peeking out from her collarbone. Twenty-nine. International supermodel. Heir to the Holloway Media empire.

Rafferty's ex-wife.

"Ophelia!" She spots me and glides over, all smiles. "I didn't expect you back so early. I thought you'd be at the academy until late."

"Training ended early."

"Perfect." Her gaze lingers on my flight jacket and ponytail for a beat too long. "Let me grab you a dress to change into? Tonight's not really a costume party, darling."

A few women nearby titter behind their hands.

I don't respond. I turn and head for the stairs.

I hate her. God, I hate her.

The study door is ajar.

I push it open. The smell of tobacco hits me immediately.

Rafferty sits behind his desk, a cigar between his fingers. Thirty years old. CEO of Lane Group. One of the most powerful men in this city.

My husband.

He glances up.

"You're back."

Not a question. Just a statement. Like he's commenting on the weather.

A chill runs through me, but I walk to his desk anyway and pull the stack of papers from my bag.

"I need your signature."

I place the documents in front of him, face down, showing only the signature line on the last page.

"What is it?"

"Flight exam paperwork from the academy." My voice comes out steadier than I expected. "Needs a family member's signature."

He picks up his pen.

My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.

His fingers touch the edge of the papers. He's about to flip to the first page—

"Rafferty!"

The door swings open.

Briar stands in the doorway, a wine-red velvet dress draped over her arm.

"Sorry to interrupt." She strolls in, laying the dress across the sofa. "Brought something for Ophelia to change into." Then she turns to Rafferty, her tone warm and familiar—like they're old friends. Or more. "You should come down. Everyone's asking where you are."

Rafferty's gaze lifts from the papers.

"Besides," Briar steps closer, "how many documents do you sign every day? Acquisitions, investment deals, board resolutions... It's just a school form. Do you really need to read every word?"

She laughs. That condescending laugh adults give children playing pretend.

Rafferty is silent for two seconds.

Then he lowers his head and signs.

"Here." He pushes the papers toward me.

My fingers are trembling when I take them. But I hold it together.

"Thanks."

He stands and walks past me toward the door. His sleeve brushes against the back of my hand, leaving a trail of cold.

He doesn't stop.

"Get changed," Briar calls from behind me. "We'll wait for you."

The door clicks shut.

I stand in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection.

Dark brown hair. Amber eyes.

Six years ago, I was seventeen when I first saw Rafferty. He wore a black three-piece suit, standing at the center of the room like an unsheathed blade. Cold. Sharp. Dangerous. Everyone around him was trying to win his favor, but his eyes—those gray-blue eyes—were like ice.

One look. That's all it took. I was gone.

Three years ago, Grandmother Eloise arranged our marriage.

The first year, he was rarely home. But sometimes, late at night, he'd slip into bed beside me. In those moments, I'd close my eyes and pretend it was love.

The second year, things started to change. He'd tell me his schedule before business trips. He'd come home late and tiptoe around so he wouldn't wake me. On weekends, he'd take me to test-fly his new planes.

I thought the ice was finally melting. I thought we were becoming something real.

Then Briar came back.

They started showing up everywhere together. Business dinners. Charity auctions. Board meetings. In every photo, they stood side by side—so perfect they looked like they were made for each other.

And me? I didn't even know where they'd been.

Sometimes he came home late with lipstick on his collar. Not my shade.

Sometimes I cooked dinner and waited. The food went cold three times over, and he still didn't show. I'd text him asking where he was. Two words back:

Busy.

But the next morning, there they were—splashed across the entertainment section. Him and Briar in some VIP lounge. Her hand resting on his arm. That dazzling smile.

That was the moment my heart went cold for good.

I'm done lying to myself.

The dress fits perfectly.

I take one last look at my reflection. I look like her. The only difference? She's more polished. She knows exactly how to use a glance, a smile, to make an entire room fall at her feet.

Did he ever love me?

Or was I always just a shadow of her?

My eyes sting. I tilt my head back and blink hard.

He's not worth it. He's not worth my tears.

The divorce papers sit heavy in my bag. His signature is already on them.

A few more weeks, and this will all be over.