The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife novel Chapter 94

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The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire’s Ex Wife

Chapter 94: When She’s Gone

I stood in the private elevator for what felt like hours, my finger hovering over the penthouse button.

The thou

The thought of stepping into that empty space–knowing Angela wouldn’t be there–made my chest tighten painfully.

No more gentle scent of her jasmine tea wafting through the halls, the soft click of her heels against the marble floors, no warm smile welcoming me home,

When I finally forced myself to press the button, each floor the elevant passed felt like another weight added to my shoulders.

The doors opened to reveal out–no, my penthouse now. Even the airtelt different, heavier somehow, as if the very space knew its

Sarah emerged from the kitchen, her usual warns smile replaced by careful neutrality. “Welcome home, Mr. Shaw Would you like

dinner?”

Did she

did she come back today?” I tried to keep my voice steady, though the words felt thick in my throat.

“Yes, Mr. Shaw,” Sarah’s voice was gentle, almost pitying. “Mrs. Shave came by this afternoon to collect some of her belongings.” She hesitated, then added softly, “She didn’t stay long.”

I nodded curtly, loosening my tie as I strode toward our master suite. The bedroom door swung open silently, revealing a space that looked almost unchanged at first glance.

But the small absences began to register: her tablet missing from the bedside table, the vanity cleared of her elegant perfume bottles, the chair where she often sat to read now bare of her cashmere throw.

My eyes caught on something glinting on the dresser.

The check I’d written her lay untouched, alongside the platinum credit card Mother had insisted she keep “for emergencies.” Beside them, catching the last rays of sunset through our floor–to–ceiling windows, lay her wedding ring.

I picked up the ring with trembling fingers. Michael had helped me choose it–a custom Cartier design with a cushion–cut diamond that had reminded me of starlight caught in crystal.

I’d never told Angela that I’d spent weeks selecting it, even though our marriage was supposed to be just a business arrangement.

The walk–in closet still held her evening gowns–dozens of them, each carefully chosen for various corporate events and charity

galas.

My fingers brushed against a midnight blue Valentino shed worn to last year’s Metropolitan Opera gala. She’d been radiant that night, drawing admiring glances from New York’s elite while maintaining that quiet dignity that set her apart from the usual social

climbers.

In the back of a drawer, I found our wedding photo, carefully preserved.

Angela’s face glowed with a mix of nervousness and something else something I’d been too blind to recognize at the time.

I remembered how her hands had trembled slightly as wed exchanged rings, how she’d smiled up at me with such trust in her eyes

collapsed onto our bed, overwhelmed by the lingering traces of her presence–the subtle scent of her lavender body wash still clinging to the pillows, the dog–eared novel on her nightstand marking the page shed never finish.

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Chapter 94: When She’s Gone

Each detail felt like a precise dut, small but devastating in its finalit

Anger, grief, and regret warred in my chest as I stared at the ceiling. The weight of my choices–every moment I’d chosen Christina over Angela, every time I’d dismissed her feelings or taken her loyalty for granted–pressed down on me like a physical force.

My phone felt heavy in my hand as I pulled up Angela’s number. I’d They’re taking up space. If you don’t come get them, I’ll have them

A petty threat, but one that might at least get her to respond.

ail. So did the second. And the third

The call went straight to voicemail.

ehearsed the words carefully: “You left some things here.

rown out.”

Frustration mounted as I switched to Christopher’s number, only to receive the same response. The image of them together somewhere, deliberately ignoring my calls, made my blood boil.

I hurled my phone across the room, taking grim satisfaction in the crack of its impact against the wall.

Morning brought no relief.

The Shaw Tower offices seemed off–kilter, Angela’s absence creating a void that even the usual bustle of corporate life couldn’t fill.

I found myself staring at her empty desk through my office window, umembering how she’d organize my schedule with quiet efficiency, anticipating my needs before I could voice them.

“Michael,” I called out, my voice sharper

arper than intended. “I need you to locate Angela’s current whereabouts.”

His response was unexpectedly cold. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Shaw.” He placed two folders on my desk with precise

movements.

“I’m here t

to submit my resignation, effective immediately.”

“Resignation?” My mind struggled to process this latest betrayal. “Why?”

“Personal reasons. His tone remained professionally distant as he gestured to the second folder. “Mrs. Wilson prepared this transition guide before her departure. She’s outlined all ongoing projects and included detailed handover notes.”

My jaw clenched at the mention of her maiden name. “She promised to stay on at the company, even after-

“If I may speak freely, sir, Michael interrupted, his usual deference giving way to barely contained disapproval,

“you’ve lost not only an exceptional wife but an invaluable executive assistant.”

He paused at the door, adding quietly, Though I suspect you’ll only realize the true extent of that loss once it’s too late.”

The address Peter provided led to a brownstone in the West Village, its windows glowing warmly against the gathering darkness.

Sophie answered my knock with visible hostility, her usual fashionable poise replaced by defensive anger.

“What do you want?” she demanded, blocking the doorway