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.