The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife novel Chapter 113

Chapter 113: The Knight at the Riding Club

Angela POV

Living in a hotel with two children proved challenging from the very first night.

The suite, while luxurious, wasn’t designed for family living. By morning, I was already searching for apartments near the twins‘ new school, but the rental market offered nothing suitable on such short notice.

Christopher called early the next day, having heard about my abrupt departure from

Olivia’s.

“I have a house only a few blocks from the children’s school.”

I hesitated. “That’s very generous, but I don’t think it’s appropriate.”

The memory of that night at Olivia’s—his unexpected advances–made me wary. I didn’t want to be further indebted to him, and I certainly didn’t want a repeat of that situation.

Christopher seemed to read my thoughts through the phone. “Angela, I don’t live there. It’s purely an investment property sitting empty. I’d rather rent it to someone I know than

to strangers.”

I considered his offer. The twins needed stability, and the location was perfect.

“I’ll pay market rate,” I said firmly.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he replied, a smile evident in his voice.

***

After settling into our new home, I threw myself completely into establishing my new

company.

Two weeks later, I stood in my newly rented office space, surveying the modest but elegant surroundings. Wilson Advisory Partners was officially operational, though barely

staffed.

“Ms. Wilson?” Marcus Reynolds stood in the doorway, his tailored suit and confident

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Chapter 113: The Knight at the Riding Club

posture reflecting his years at a top investment firm. Hiring him as my operations director had been my first real victory.

“Come in, Marcus. How did the interviews go today?”

He closed the door behind him. “Frankly, we’re facing challenges. Our size and limited profile make it difficult to attract top talent.”

“I expected that,” I admitted, gesturing for him to sit. “What I don’t understand is why someone with your experience would choose a startup like mine.”

Marcus smiled. “I’ve followed your career since you were at Shaw Group. I spent five years climbing to senior management there, but always admired your approach to client management.”

My stomach tightened at the mention of Shaw Group. “You worked at Shaw?”

“Until last month,” he confirmed. “Which brings me to my suggestion–we need backing. Two obvious choices: Shaw Group or Lawrence Capital.”

“Not Shaw,” I said firmly, perhaps too quickly..

Marcus raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Lawrence Capital then. Though I should warn you, Tristan Lawrence has quite the… reputation with women.”

“I’m aware,” I replied, suddenly remembering the jacket I’d never returned after the charity auction. “Thank you for your candid assessment, Marcus.”

That evening, scrolling through my contacts, I paused at Tristan Lawrence’s name. After a moment’s hesitation, I typed a message:

Mr. Lawrence, this is Angela Wilson. I still have your jacket from the charity auction. Perhaps we could meet so I can return it and discuss a potential business opportunity?

His reply came almost immediately:

Ms. Wilson, I was beginning to think you’d vanished with my favorite Armani. The jacket is merely collateral–I’d love to discuss business. Are you free tomorrow? Greenwich Equestrian Club at 2pm?

I grabbed my purse and scarf, already planning my approach. Lawrence Capital’s

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Riding Club

investment could be exactly what my fledgling company needed.

The Greenwich Equestrian Club exuded old money and privilege. As my car pulled up to the entrance, I noticed a commotion on the main field.

A rider on a powerful black stallion was galloping at breakneck speed, executing jumps with reckless precision. The other riders gave him a wide berth, clearly intimidated.

His impressive performance drew cheers and screams from the ladies present. Another playboy, I thought to myself.

Tristan Lawrence waited at the entrance, immaculately dressed in riding attire.

“Angela, welcome,” he greeted me with a charming smile.

“Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Lawrence.”

“Please, call me Tristan,” he insisted, taking my hand lightly.