The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife novel Chapter 22

The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire’s Ex–Wife-

Chapter 22: A Late Night Call

Angela POV

Ever since Christina’s setur, Sean rarely spent his nights at home.

After he stormed out earlier today, I knew he must be with her again I couldn’t understand why he insisted I stay in this apartment, why he was even offering to give me the property.

Tidn’t he realize how cruel that vas?

The one left behind always suffers more, don’t they?

I would rather move out on my own, start fresh somewhere new and et these wounds heal faster.

Sarah approached me with her usual quiet efficiency. Should I help you unpack your suitcase, Mrs. Shaw?”

“No need,” I replied softly. “I’m just postponing the move by a few days. I’ll be leaving eventually anyway.”

Sarah nodded, her eyes holding a mix of understanding and sympathy as she helped carry my suitcase back to my bedroom.

This simple action made me feel like a hotel guest. That’s what I had become in this place a temporary occupant, waiting for checkout time. Even in what had been my home for two years, I was already feeling like a stranger passing through.

My phone buzzed against the marble nightstand, its gentle vibration seeming thunderous in the quiet room.

I hesitated, my heart rate quickening. Would it be Christina again, calling to gloat about another evening with Sean?

The name that appeared on the screen surprised me: Evan White.

I answered on the third ring. “Evan?”

Angela.” His voice carried the careful neutrality I’d come to associate with bad news. “I apologize for calling so late, but… it’s Sean

My fingers tightened on the phone. “What happened?”

“He’s at Metropolitan Club. He’s had… quite a bit to drink.” Evan paused. “More than I’ve ever seen him drink, actually.”

I frowned. In all the years I’d known Sean, I’d never seen him truly drunk. Even at college parties, he’d maintained iron control, never allowing himself to become vulnerable.

“Ini sure Christina can handle it,” I said, trying to keep p my voice steady.

‘Christina isn’t here yet.” Evan paused. “He’s… not himself tonight.

I heard another male voice in the background – William’s unmistakable drawl. “I told you we should call Christina. Sean needs Christina right now, not this pretend wife.”

Shut up. William.” Evan’s sharp rebuke carried clearly through the phone. Then his voice softened as he addressed me again. Angela, please… I hope you can come take Sean home.”

I hesitated. Part of me wanted to refuse, to let Christina handle this like William suggested. After all, wasn’t that what Sean wanted?

1/3

Chapter 22: A Late Night Call

But another part of me, the part that still cared despite everything, couldn’t just leave him like this.

I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

I hung up before Evan could respond, already moving to my closet. lipped on a black coat over my clothes, not bothering to change into anything more formal.

The keys to my Porsche felt cold in my palm. I could have called Pet, our longtime driver, but something about this moment felt too private for witnesses.

Manhattan’s streets were relatively empty at this hour, the usual chaps reduced to a gentle hum.

As I merged onto Fifth Avenue, my mind wandered to earlier that day. Had Sean’s uncharacteristic drinking been triggered by Nathan’s midnight call?

The thought sent an unexpected warmth through my chest. Could Seen actually be jealous?

A yellow cab swerved suddenly into my lane, forcing me to brake hard. The Porsche’s tires squealed against wet pavement, my heart thundering in my chest. I pulled over, hands shaking on the steering wheel.

“Get it together,” I whispered to myself. “You’re carrying precious cargo now,”

The rest of the drive passed in a blur of streetlights and shadow. I found a parking spot on Park Avenue, the cold night air biting through my silk blouse as I walked the remaining block to Metropolitan Club.

The clubs entrance was still active despite the late hour, clusters of Wall Street’s elite lingering over last drinks and deals.

I was halfway up the marble steps when a familiar figure caught my eye Christina Jordan, hurrying toward the entrance in four- inch Louboutins, her red hair a flame in the darkness.

“What happened?” Christina’s voice carried clearly across the quiet street. “Sean never drinks like this! William, how could you let this happen?”

William West stood in the doorway, his usual smooth charm replaced by genuine concern. “You think we didn’t try to stop him? But, you know Sean – he doesn’t listen to anyone except you.”

“Some

elite businessmen

n you all are,” Christina scoffed, though her voice held more worry than bite. “Acting

college freshmen.”

Before William could respond, Sean appeared in the doorway, his usually immaculate appearance disheveled, tie loose around his neck. He reached for Christina’s wrist, his movements uncharacteristically clumsy,

“Sean.” Christina’s

a’s voice softened to that honeyed tone she reserved just for him. “It’s alright. I’m here now. Let me take care of you.”

My chest tightened as I watched, but then something unexpected happened. Sean’s grip suddenly released, his hand falling away as if burned. “Evan,” he called out, his voice rough. “Take me home.”

I turned away, unable to watch any more of this scene.