The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife novel Chapter 318

Angela POV

David placed his empty teacup on the table and stood up, preparing to leave. “Wait,” I called out, stopping him. I realized then that I knew so little about the man who had given his life for me–for us.

“David, would you mind telling me more about Christopher?” I asked stopping him at the door. “Your relationship… it seems like you were more than just his assistant.”

David hesitated, his hand still on the doorknob. “We’ve just lost him Are you sure you want to hear this now?”

“It’s too late to really know him,” I admitted, my voice catching. “But I’d still like to learn who he really was.”

“To most people, Christopher Blake was strict, cold, sometimes even violent. But to me…” He paused, eyes fixed on some distant point. “To me, he was like an older brother.”

I settled deeper into the couch, suddenly desperate to understand the man who had died protecting me. Even though it was too late to truly know him, I needed to hear more.

“My father was a drunk and a gambler,” David continued. “Despite my mother being married to him, he wouldn’t leave us alone. In my memories, we were always moving, trying to escape my father and his debt collectors.”

He set down his cup, the clink against the saucer unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

“One time, a group of thugs found our home, forcing my mother to pay his debts. Even though I explained we had nothing to do with that alcoholic gambling addict anymore, they wouldn’t leave us alone.” David’s voice grew distant, lost in the past. “Christopher happened to be passing by and helped drive them away.”

“How did you even meet?” I asked, trying to picture the scene–a young David in trouble, Christopher stepping in.

“I lived in the slums. Our lives should never have intersected, but that day, Christopher’s mother–during one of her episodes–had wandered off. He was following leads to find her in my neighborhood. That’s how we met.”

I remembered what I knew about Christopher’s mother–her mental illness, her eventual suicide. Those wounds must have run deep.

“Later, he even paid for my college education,” David said. “After graduation, I went straight to work for his company.”

David smiled faintly, lost in memory. “When I first met him, I idolized him, He seemed invincible. But gradually, I realized he wasn’t as strong as I imagined. He helped many people, but was also viewed as a thorn in many sides.”

As David spoke, something twisted inside me. For five years, Christopher had cared for me, but I’d never considered that he might need care too. I’d accepted his strength without questioning what it cost him.

“I should go,” David said finally, standing. “There’s still much to arrange before tomorrow.

I walked him to the door, feeling strangely hollow. “David, when you get that surf shop up and running, I’ll bring the children to learn surfing.”

He nodded slightly, offering a small smile before leaving.

That evening, Sean, the children, and I gathered around the coffee table to open Christopher’s Christmas gifts. The care with which each had been chosen–reflecting casual comments made years ago made my chest ache with a fresh wave of grief.

For me, a first edition of Pride and Prejudice, the novel I’d once mentioned wanting to collect. For Ethan, a telescope far too

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advanced for his age, but perfect for the little boy who had always asked questions about the stars. And for Aria, a music box that played the very lullaby Christopher used to sing to her.

“Is this a present Uncle Christopher sent from heaven?” Aria asked, turning the delicate music box in her small hands. “I want to send him a thank–you card in heaven.”

I blinked back tears. “That would be lovely, sweetheart.”

As I tucked the children into bed, guilt pressed down on me like a physical weight. I should have seen past Christopher’s mask. Should have recognized the loneliness beneath his strength. Should have offered him more than just my reliance.

Later, as Sean and I prepared for bed, I couldn’t shake the melancholy that had settled over me.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” Sean said quietly, pulling me against his chest. “During those five years, he was probably happy. Because when you love someone, doing things for them brings joy. Just like now with you–being needed by you, being depended on by you, it makes me happy.” He paused, his arms tightening around me. “If our positions were reversed, I would have done the same thing.”

“No,” I whispered, “I don’t want you to do that. I can’t bear to see anyone else sacrifice themselves for me.”

Sean didn’t answer, just pressed a kiss to my forehead and held me closer as tears I could no longer contain slipped silently down my cheeks.

***

Our suitcases stood by the door, packed and ready for the journey to London. The funeral was scheduled for tomorrow, and I struggled to maintain composure for the children’s sake. I slipped on my coat while Sean arranged for the car to take us to the airport.

“Are you ready?” Sean asked, his hand gentle on my shoulder.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. The past few days had been a blur of arrangements and explanations, of tears quickly wiped away when little eyes turned my way.

We were halfway to the door when I heard small footsteps rushing down the stairs. Ethan appeared, still in his pajamas, his face unusually determined.

“Mom, wait,” he called out, slightly breathless. “Can I come with you? To say goodbye to Uncle Christopher?”

My heart constricted. I’d planned for the children to stay with Victoria, wanting to shield them from the harsh reality of a funeral. Death was too heavy a concept for their young shoulders.