The Ex-Wife He Can’t Have novel Chapter 24

Sylvia: [Why do you keep bringing that up? Barely anyone even knows he was married.]

[That doesn't make it right!]

Sylvia: [Fine. I'll talk to him.]

[Honestly, I feel bad for him. He doesn't even like that woman. He was set up. A marriage like that has no love and won't last.]

Staring at the block of text, Gibson sighed.

He knew the story all too well.

At a graduation party, Killian had been drugged by a virtual stranger and ended up sleeping with her.

And then she got pregnant.

Killian was backed into a corner and forced to marry her.

Whenever he thought about it, Gibson couldn't help but pity the man.

To be at the absolute top of the world, only to have his marriage rigged by someone else.

No man could easily swallow that.

But pity or not, he wasn't going to let his sister be branded as the other woman.

Ending the conversation, Gibson returned to his notes. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a black hair tie under the therapy chair.

It must have fallen when she lay down for hypnosis.

Checking the time, he figured she was still nearby.

Gibson hurried out of the office.

"Jillian," he called out, handing her the hair tie.

She had just reached the end of the hall.

Instinctively touching her hair, she took it with a grateful nod.

"Are you having trouble walking?"

"I'm fine. Just a clumsy fall."

Jillian reached for the heavy exit door.

Gibson stepped in smoothly, pulling it open for her.

"Thank you."

She turned back and gave him a polite nod.

Gibson stayed by the door, watching her limp away.

A young nurse from the triage desk slipped over, noticing his lingering gaze.

"Dr. Xavier, she's gorgeous, isn't she?" she teased.

She desperately wanted to call and see how he was doing, but the boy didn't have a phone.

Her only option was calling Killian.

And there was no way he was going to answer her.

After a moment of hesitation, she dialed Mrs. Zeller.

Three calls. Three instant rejections.

A suffocating wave of rage and helplessness crushed her chest. Barely able to control herself, Jillian leaped up and began pacing the room.

Her foot clipped her suitcase on the floor.

A tiny pink piece of fabric spilled out.

The price tag was still attached.

Jillian froze. She slowly crouched down and picked it up.

It was a newborn girl's floral dress.

Every other trace of the baby had been purged, but this one dress had somehow survived.

She had buried it in her luggage so long ago that she had completely forgotten about it.

Clutching the tiny dress, Jillian buried her face in the fabric and broke down.