The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife novel Chapter 91

The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire’s Ex–Wife

Chapter 91: Enjoy Your Freedom

Angela Pov

The morning air bit through my thin blazer: I stood beside Sean Bentley in the private parking garage of our Park Aven

apartment.

My breath formed delicate clouds in the frigid December air, a reminder of how quickly the sea

seasons had charged. Just like

Sean opened the passenger door with mechanical precision, his movements deliberately lacking their usual protective warmth.

As I slid into the leather seat, I noticed the temperature controls set to their lowest setting despite the winter chill.

A small cruelty, perhaps, but one that spoke volumes about his current state of mind.

The Bentley putted to life, its powerful engine the only sound breaking the heavy silence between us.

As we merged onto Park Avenue, I watched the city prepare for Christmas–storefront windows dressed in holiday splendor, wreaths adorning elegant doorways, twinkling lights strung across bare tree branches.

The festive atmosphere felt like a mockery of our current mission.

We maintained our silence as the car wound through the city streets.

We passed couples walking hand in hand, shopping bags swinging between them, faces bright with holiday cheer.

I forced myself to look away, focusing instead on the folder in my lap containing our divorce papers.

Two years of marriage reduced to a handful of legal documents.

The New York County Supreme Court building loomed ahead, its limestone facade stark against the winter sky.

Sean handed the Bentley’s keys to the vallet with practiced d ease, maintaining a careful distance from me as we climbed the

courthouse steps.

“Before we proceed,” the judge began, her experienced eyes moving between us, “I must remind you that this dissolution agreement is irreversible once finalized. Your joint assets and business interests will be permanently divided according to the terms outlined in your settlement.”

I kept my spine straight, my voice steady. “We understand, Your Honor. Please continue.”

I felt Sean’s gaze on me but refused to meet it.

Instead, I watched as the judge methodically reviewed our paperwork, each turning page marking another step toward freedom – or emptiness, depending on how you looked at it.

“Very well.” The judge’s voice carried years of witnessing similar scenes. “Mr. Shaw, if you’ll sign here.”

Sean’s Mont Blanc pen

moved across the paper with decisive strokes. No hesitation, no last–minute change of heart.

Just the scratch of metal against paper, marking the end of our union

“Mrs. Shaw or should I –

say, Ms. Wilson?”

1/3

Chapter 91: Enjoy Your Freedom

I accepted the pen, its weight suddenly significant in my hand. For moment, I allowed myself to remember:

The way Sean had looked at me during our first meeting at Wilson Investment Bank,

The quiet moments in our

shared library, even the silent comfort His presence during Elizabeth’s surgery.

Then I signed, my signature as crisp and professional as ever.

“Congratulations, the judge said, though her tone cartled nn celebration. “You are now legally separated. The divorce will be finalized in three months, assuming no objections are filled.”

Outside on the courthouse steps, the holiday bustle continued unalsjed. Tourists snapped photos of the courthouse’s grand architecture, office workers hurried past with coffee cups clutched ingloved hands, and couples strolled by arm in arm, their laughter carrying on the winter wind

“Thank you,” I said quietly, turning to face Sean one last time.

His expression remained carefully blank, but something flickered in his eyes – regret? Anger? I couldn’t tell anymore.

“Enjoy your Treedom,” he said flatly, then turned and descended the steps without looking back.

1

is tall figure

I stood alone, watching his tall figure disappear into the crowd.

The facade I’d maintained throughout the proceedings began to crack my breath coming in short, sharp gasps that had nothing to

do with the cold.

I pressed my fingers against my lips, fighting back the threat of tears

A familiar black Mercedes pulled up to the curb, and Christopher emerged, moving with quiet purpose through the crowd. Without a word, he draped his cashmere coat over my shoulders.