The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife novel Chapter 319

3/3

Angela Pov

The London cemetery was shrouded in a fine mist that seemed fitting for the occasion.

I held Ethan’s hand tightly as we approached the gathering of black lad mourners. Aria insisted on being carried by Sean, her small arms wrapped around his neck, her face partially hidden against his shoulder.

Christopher’s coffin sat at the front, polished mahogany gleaming dully in the weak English sunlight. Beside it stood a large portrait of him – not the intense businessman I’d known in recent years, but younger version with a rare, genuine smile. It made my chest ache to see it.

We found seats near the back, hoping to remain inconspicuous. I wanted this to be as undisturbing for the children as possible. But we had barely settled when I noticed a commotion near the front. An older man with Christopher’s jawline was staring directly at us, his expression darkening from grief to something more volatile.

“That’s her,” he said loudly, pointing in our direction. “That’s the woman who got my son killed.”

Heads turned, and I felt myself shrinking under their collective gaze. Ethan pressed closer to my side.

1

The man

or alcohol.

Christopher’s father, I realized – broke away from the group and approached us, his steps unsteady with either emotion

“You have no right to be here,” he spat, stopping just short of our row. “Christopher would still be alive if not for you and your selfish games.”

I stood, instinctively positioning myself between him and the children. “Mr. Blake, I understand your grief-*

“You understand nothing!” he interrupted, his voice rising. “My son wasted his life chasing after you, and this is how you repaid him?”

–

A younger woman in designer mourning wear his wife, I assumed, far too young to be Christopher’s mother – stepped up beside him, placing a restraining hand on his arm. Her eyes were red–rimmed but dry.

“What kind of woman brings children to a funeral?” she asked, her voice dripping with rehearsed sorrow. “Especially when their mother is responsible for the death we’re mourning.”

—

Her false tears started then, perfectly timed. I might have believed her grief if I hadn’t known the history – how Christopher’s father had abandoned his first wife and son for this woman, how they had barely been part of Christopher’s life.

Something snapped inside me. My grief and guilt transformed into righteous anger.

“You dare to cry for him now?” I demanded, my voice low but intense “Where were you when he needed parents? When his mother’s mental illness went untreated? When he was left to fend for himself?

Sean stood, placing Aria in my arms and positioning himself slightly in front of us.

“This isn’t the time or place,” he said firmly to Christopher’s father. We’re all here to honor Christopher’s memory.”

But Christopher’s father wasn’t finished. “You took advantage of my son’s obsession with you,” he accused, jabbing a finger at me. “Used him as a babysitter while you chased other men.”

“That’s enough,” Sean warned, his tone hardening.

1/3

you left wounds

“You’re the ones who killed him,” I shot back, unable to contain myself. “His mother’s suicide, your abandonment so deep he never recovered. At least I gave him five years of family, belonging. What did you ever give him except pain?”

The young wife gasped dramatically. “How dare you! We loved Christopher!”

“You didn’t even know him,” I replied, my voice breaking. “Do you know what foods he liked? What made him laugh? The nightmares that kept him awake? I do.”

Ethan tugged at my coat, his face pale with confusion and distress, Immediately regretted allowing my emotions to overflow. This wasn’t what I wanted the children to experience.

Sean stepped closer to Christopher’s father, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You will back away from my family now, or I will have security remove you from your own son’s funeral. Christopher gave his life to protect Angela and our children. Your disrespect dishonors his sacrifice.”

A tense silence fell over the gathering. I clutched both children close wishing I could shield them from this ugliness.

“That’s quite enough.”

The new voice came from behind us elderly but commanding. I turned to see an imposing man leaning on a cane, his silver hair and amber eyes immediately identifying him as. Christopher’s grandfather.

He walked slowly to where we stood, the crowd parting before him.

Christopher chose his path,” the old man said, his gaze sweeping over his son before settling on me. “No one forced his hand. To suggest otherwise insults his memory and his agency.”

Christopher’s father seemed to shrink under his father’s stern gaze. The young wife quickly composed herself, her theatrical tears magically drying up.

The old man turned to me, his eyes so like Christopher’s studying my face intently.

“So you’re Angela,” he said finally. “I never supported his feelings for you. I thought you were a distraction, unworthy of the Blake

name.”

I flinched at his bluntness, but he continued.

“But I respected my grandson. And in the end, he made his choice.” His gaze dropped to Aria and Ethan, who stared back at him with solemn curiosity. “These children – he spoke of them often. Considered them his own in many ways.”

He reached out, gently touching each child’s head in turn.

“Raise them well,” he told me, his voice softening slightly. “That would honor him more than any tears or recrimination