The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife

Angela POV

Pregnant, six weeks.

I stared at the test results in my hands, the paper trembling slightly despite my best efforts to keep steady.

I thought of that wild night.

His fingers curled into the delicate silk, and with one swift motion, the fabric tore.

He followed my collarbone down and kissed his way across my entire body.

My body arched involuntarily, drawn into the inferno of him, my hands grasping at his shoulders, his hair...

"Congratulations, Mrs. Shaw," Dr.Morrison's warm voice cut through my daze. "The initial tests show everything is progressing normally."

I looked up at her, grateful for the familiar face who had been handling my annual check-ups since I started working at Shaw Group.

"I... thank you, I wasn't expecting..."

"First-time mothers rarely are," she said kindly, pulling up my chart on her tablet. "We'll want to schedule regular prenatal check-ups. Is Mr. Shaw available to join us? We should discuss the care plan together."

"He's handling some urgent matters at the company," I replied automatically.

The truth was, I hadn't even told him about today's appointment.

"Of course, I understand. Wall Street waits for no one," Dr. Morrison nodded sympathetically. "But do make sure to bring him next time. There are several decisions you'll need to make together."

Together？

Sean and I hadn't made any real decisions together in the two years of our marriage.

It had started as a business arrangement – a way to appease his grandmother's concerns about the family legacy – and had remained exactly that.

My phone buzzed, Sean's name lighting up the screen. For a moment, my heart leaped – had he somehow sensed the news? But the message was purely practical:

"I'm at Metropolitan Club for a meeting. Please bring me an umbrella."

I glanced at the darkening sky. The weather forecast had mentioned possible thunderstorms, and Sean never liked to be caught unprepared.

I'm not just his wife—I’m also his secretary, and it’s my job to handle any unexpected situations that come up.

I touched my still-flat stomach absently, wondering if this was the right moment to tell him.

"To the Metropolis Club," I flagged down a cab and told the driver.

The first fat drops of rain began to fall as we pulled up to the club's entrance. I stepped out, clutching the umbrella, only to be stopped by the security guard's politely raised hand.

"I'm sorry, madam, but we have strict member-only access rules during business hours."

"I understand, but my husband Sean Shaw is inside. I just need to—"

"I'm sorry, but it's the rule—you can't go in." The security guard eyed me up and down, his tone laced with disdain. "Every day, plenty of people show up claiming to be Mr. Sean’s girlfriend or wife. But just now, Mr. Sean already went in with his real wife."

I froze. What? His wife?

That’s impossible. I took a deep breath and tried to explain to the guard that I was Sean’s wife. The only wife. But he merely shrugged, indifferent.

Frustrated, I pulled out my phone and called Sean. The call was declined.

My heart clenched. I quickly typed out a message:

"I brought you an umbrella. I'm at the club entrance."

Several minutes passed before his reply came:

"Meeting still ongoing. You can just head back."

My fingers hovered over the phone.

"I need to tell you something important."

"We can discuss it at home."

The dismissal was clear.

I was angry and frustrated, but I forced myself to stay calm. He’s in a meeting right now. A professional secretary wouldn’t disturb him.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to leave—only to freeze in my tracks.

A familiar figure caught my eye.

No way!

That fiery red hair, impossible to ignore. That tall, curvy silhouette. That dangerously tight dress.

Christina Jordan!

The sight of her was like a punch to the gut – she was supposed to be at Paris, not here, not now.

Then, I saw Sean step out—his hand wrapped around Christina’s—as he led her into a room.

Is she the "wife" the security guard was talking about?

Is this so-called "meeting" just an excuse to meet with Christina?

I was still trying to wrap my head around what I had just seen when two fashionable girls walked out of the club, talking loudly.

“I can’t believe Christina’s back!” one of them said. “I thought she’d stay in Paris.”

“Of course she came back for Sean,”

“Their love story is so romantic!”

“Yeah, I just don’t get it, Sean is so good-looking, why would he end up with the daughter of a bankrupt banker?”

The first girl laughed. “Exactly! Christina’s way out of Angela’s league. Just thinking about Angela’s silly smile makes me lose my appetite.”

...

The words hit like slaps. I took a step back, barely noticing that I'd moved out from under the shelter until the rain was soaking through my blazer.

I turned and walked away, the rain grew heavier, but I barely felt it.

By the time I reached our apartment in the evening, I was soaked to the bone.

James Morrison, our building's longtime manager, took one look at me and immediately sprang into action.

"Mrs. Shaw! Let me call Sarah to bring you some warm towels." He was already reaching for his phone. "And I'll have some hot tea sent up immediately."

"Thank you, James, but I'm fine." The words came out automatically, even as a shiver ran through me. "I just need to—"

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Sean's voice cut through the lobby like a whip crack. I turned to find him striding toward me, his face set in lines of anger I rarely saw directed at me.

"Walking in the rain without an umbrella?" He continued, his voice lowered but no less intense. "Have you completely lost your mind?"

I felt a lump form in my throat, the frustration rising fast.

Wasn’t I out here in the rain because of him?

I’m carrying his child, running through the storm just to bring him an umbrella—and yet, behind my back, he’s out there dating another woman.

When did Christina come back? How long had they been seeing each other in secret?

The thought twisted in my chest, but I couldn’t even bring myself to confront him. I didn’t have the right.

In everyone’s eyes, maybe Christina was the one who mattered. The one who was really his wife.

"I didn't realize you cared about my well-being," I said quietly.

Something flickered in his eyes – surprise, perhaps, at my uncharacteristic show of defiance. Then his jaw tightened, and he stepped forward, sliding an arm around my waist.

"You're freezing," he said flatly. "We need to get you warm."

I tried to step away, but he tightened his grip, practically lifting me off my feet as he guided me toward the elevator.

"Sean, I need to tell you—" I started, but he cut me off.

To my surprise, he scooped me up in his arms.