The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife novel Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Whiskey Won’t Lie–1

Sean POW

The door slammed behind me with a satisfying

g crash that echoed through the penthouse hallway.

I stood there for a moment, waiting for what, I was I sure. Maybe for the sound of hurrying footsteps, for Angola’s voice calling

my name,

Two years ago, she would have followed.

Would have appeared in the doorway with that mix of concern and stubbornness in her amber eyes, ready to continue whatever argument we were having until we reached some sort of resolution.

But the hallway remained silent.

I pulled out my phone, scanning through the banking alerts that had triggered my initial anger.

Two years of marriage, and Angela hadn’t touched a single cent of the money I’d transferred to her account.

Not the monthly allowance, not the “compensation” after our night together, nothing. The balance sat there, untouched, like some sort of silent accusation.

And now she wanted to move out? To get her own apartment? The thought made my blood boil all over again.

The elevator arrived with a soft chime. As I stepped in, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the polished brass – my normally immaculate appearance slightly disheveled, tie loosened, a muscle working in my jaw.

I looked exactly like what I was: a man who’d lost control of a situation he thought he had perfectly managed.

seat of the waiting town car. Peter nodded silently, already familiar with

“Metropolitan Club,” I told the driver as I slid into the back seat of the waiting my preferred destination after difficult days.

As the car pulled away from Park Avenue, my mind drifted back to another time, another version of Angela.

She’d been waiting outside the student council room at Saint Paul’s School, her dark hair caught in the winter wind, two cups of coffee steaming in her gloved hands.

“You missed dinner again,” she’d said, holding out one of the cups. The dining hall’s closed, but I saved you a sandwich.”

Even then, she’d been taking care of me, anticipating my needs before I know them myself. We were only th had that quiet strength about her.

When had that changed?.

thirteen, but she already

When had she become this stranger who refused my money, who spent lunch hours with Nathan Harrison, who looked at me with -such careful distance in her eyes?

Nathan. The thought of him made my hands clench. The way he hovered around Angela’s office, always ready with a suggestion of a helping hand. The casual familiarity in his voice when he called her, as if he had any right to check on her wellbeing.

The car turned onto 44th Street, and I pushed the memories away. Tonight wasn’t about Angela, or Nathan, or the mess my carefully ordered life had become

No network available now. Please check your network.

Tonight was about expensive whiskey and the blessed numbness it promised.

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Chapter 21: Whiskey Won’t Lie–1

William and Evan were already walling at mer

“You look like shit.”

William observed cheerfully, pushing a gloss of Stacollan 25 across the table. Trouble in paradise?

“Angela’s trying to move out.“I dropped into my seat, loosening my further.

“What?” Exan’s eyebrows shot up. “I thought you two had an arrangement.”

“We do. Did.” I took a long swallow of whiskey, letting it burn away the confusion in my chest. “She’s found an apartment on 82nd Street. Says she wants to make her own way. The words came out more bitter than I’d intended.

“After everything you’ve done for her? William shook his head. “The monthly allowance alone would set most people up for life,”

“She hasn’t touched it. I signaled for another drink. “Two years of marriage, and she hasn’t spent a single cent of what I’ve given

A low whistle from Evan. “Seriously? Not even after… you know, that night?”

My grip tightened on the glass,

That night.

The charity gals, the champagne, the way Angela had felt in my arms- soft and warm and right in a way I didn’t want to examine too closely.

The way

her body moved in rhythm with my own, and how she moaned at every single sensation that shot through her had me feeling more pleasure than I had ever felt before. I hadn’t ever done anything, even remotely as intimate with someone who gave me as much gratification as Angela had.

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The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire’s Ex–Wife

Chapter 21: Whiskey Won’t Lie–2

1 fell asleep that night feel

feeling so elated and at peace

peace that I almost figot

got about the current status of

It was a very big possibility that I would become completely addicted to her.

But I knew I can’t.

“Not a penny,” I confirmed. “Says she doesn 1 want my charity.

“Has to be Harrison’s influence, William muttered. That upstart from Wilson Investment’s been filling her head with ideas about independence.”

The mention of Nathan made something dark and ugly twist in my chest. “He called her tonight. At midnight.”

“Just a colleague checking on her health?” Evan’s tone made it clear exactly what he thought of that excuse.

She’s been different lately, I found myself saying. “Ever since Christina came back…”

“Ah.” William and Evan exchanged knowing looks. How is the good doctor?”

I waved away the question, focusing instead on the amber liquid in my glass. “Angela and I agreed from the start this marri was temporary. A business arrangement. Once grandmother’s surgery is done…”

Then why does her moving out bother you so much?” Evan’s question cut uncomfortably close to thoughts I’d been avoiding.

“It doesn’t.” The lie tasted worse than the whiskey. “I just don’t understand why she’s being difficult about this. We can still be friends after the divorce. Nothing has to change.”

William’s laugh was sharp. “You really expect your ex–wife to stick around playing best friend while you build a life with Christina? Come on, Sean. Even you can’t be that naive.”

“Angela’s different,” I insisted, the words slightly slurred. When had they refilled my glass? “She’s always been there. Since we were kids. Through everything. She can’t just…”

“Can’t just what?” Evan pressed. “Can’t just move on? Can’t just build her own life? With someone like Harrison, maybe?”

The glass slammed down harder than I’d intended, whiskey sloshing over the sides. “Nathan Harrison is a second–rate trader who got lucky. If he thinks he can—”

easy

There.” William’s hand on my arm was steadying. “Maybe you should slow down.”

But the whiskey was doing its job, melting away the careful walls I’d built around certain thoughts. “She used to wait for me,” 1 heard myself saying. After student council meetings. With coffee. Even in winter. She always… she was always there.”