The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife novel Chapter 222

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The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire’s Ex–Wife

Chapter 222: He Even Remembered My Cycle

Angela POV

It wasn’t Christopher at all.

David Chen stepped through the doorway, and relief washed over me

‘David! I rushed forward. “Thank goodness you’re okay. I was so worried that

I stopped short when I saw his expression. His eyes were cold, his posture rigid as he took a step back, maintaining distance

between us.

“Mrs. Wilson,” he said, his voice as detached as his gaze. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Confusion replaced my initial relief. This wasn’t the same David who had risked everything to help us escape.

“David, what’s going on?” I asked cautiously. “Where’s Christopher?

“Mr. Blake isn’t here, he replied, his tone formal and impersonal.

My stomach tightened. “Then where is he? And Sean–what has he done with Sean?”

David didn’t answer. Instead, he extended his hand, offering me a phone. “Mr. Blake wishes, to speak with you.”

I took the phone with trembling fingers, pressing it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Angela.” Christopher’s smooth voice filled my ear, sending a chill down my spine despite the Mediterranean warmth.

“Where’s Sean?” I demanded, skipping any pleasantries.

“Always so direct,” Christopher replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Sean is comfortable–well, as comfortable as his condition allows–on another one of my islands. Not far from here, actually.”

“I want to see him,” I said firmly.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” His voice softened. “I’ve arranged a private flight. Once you arrive at my residence, Sean will be free to go.”

“How do I know he’s even alive?” My voice wavered slightly.

“As a show of good faith, Christopher said, the words making my skin crawl, “I’ve instructed David to show you a recent

photograph.

I ended the call and turned to David. “I want to see the photo. Now.

David reached into his jacket pocket and produced a tablet. He unlocked it and handed it to me, his face expressionless.

My breath caught as I stared at the screen. Sean lay on what appeared to be a luxurious hospital bed, his face ashen, his torso wrapped in bandages that showed rusty stains of dried blood seeping through.

I grabbed David’s arm, panic rising in my throat. “What happened to him? Did Christopher do this? Is this Christopher’s do.

David removed my hand from his arm with cold precision. “Mrs. Wilson, I don’t have that information. If you want answers, you’ll

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Chapter 222: He Even Remembered My Cycle

need to ask Mr. Blake personally.

“Then give me the phone back, I demanded, reaching for it. “I need to speak with him again.”

David stepped back, slipping the phone into his pocket. “Mr. Blake said he will discuss everything with you in person, not before.”

“When do we leave?” I asked, struggling to control my rising fear.

“Tomorrow,” David replied.

“Tomorrow? 1 echoed incredulously. “That’s not acceptable. We need to go now.”

David didn’t respond. Instead, he gestured toward the entrance. “This way, Mrs. Wilson. Your former suite has been prepared for you.”

As we walked through the familiar corridors, I searched for any sign of the compassionate man who had helped us escape. His face remained impassive as he opened the door to my suite.

“Your security detail should leave immediately,” he said flatly. “Their continued presence could jeopardize Mr. Shaw’s safety.”

“David,” I said quietly before he could leave. “What happened to you?

For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes–pain, perhaps, or regret–before the emptiness returned.

“Rest well, Mrs. Wilson,” he said, closing the door behind him.

***

Sleep proved impossible. Images of Sean’s bloodied bandages haunted me each time I closed my eyes. After hours of restless tossing, I decided to head downstairs.

The villa was eerily quiet as I made my way to the kitchen. In the wine cellar, I selected an expensive bottle of Bordeaux that Christopher had once described as his favorite. I’d barely uncorked it when David appeared in the doorway.

“Mrs. Wilson, you shouldn’t be drinking at this hour.”

I poured myself a generous glass, meeting his gaze defiantly. “I need to speak with Christopher.”

David hesitated, then produced the phone. Christopher answered immediately, as if he’d been waiting for my call.

“Angela,” he said, voice tinged with concern. “Your menstrual cycle is due soon. Chilled wine will only worsen your cramps.”