Bound to the Ruthless Billionaire

Chapter 1 : My Infertile Husband Has A Pregnant  Mistress

My husband and his ex-fiancée were having sex on our fifth wedding anniversary.

The words rang in my mind like a death knell as I stared at the video on my phone. My breath hitched, my vision blurred, but I couldn’t look away. I should have stopped watching—closed the screen, thrown the phone across the room—but my fingers stayed frozen, my heart betraying me with every beat.  

The video played on, each second digging a deeper hole in my chest. Nathan—my Nathan—lay tangled in hotel sheets with Camille, his ex. They were laughing, kissing, gripping each other like they couldn’t bear to let go.  

My stomach churned as the camera zoomed in on them. The faint swell of Camille’s belly felt like the final blow.  

She was pregnant.  

The phone slipped from my hand, clattering onto the dining table. For a moment, the sound brought me back to reality. The candlelight flickered over the delicate table setting I had spent hours perfecting. His favorite wine, his favorite meal, flowers arranged just so—all for a man who wasn’t coming home tonight. Not for me.  

My chest heaved as I tried to swallow the scream clawing its way up my throat. The betrayal wasn’t just in the video. It was in everything I’d ignored for months—the missed dinners, the late-night meetings, the way he looked right through me like I was invisible.  

I stood abruptly, nearly knocking over a wine glass. My pulse roared in my ears as I paced the room, my dress brushing against the edge of the table. I had spent years shielding Nathan from the truth, protecting his pride, enduring the St. Claires’ disdain because I loved him.  

And this was my reward.  

The irony was bitter. Nathan wasn’t just a liar and a cheat—he was infertile. For years, I’d carried the burden of his secret, pretending the issue was mine so he wouldn’t feel broken. And now he was parading around with a pregnant Camille like some conquering hero, oblivious to the fact that the child wasn’t his.  

A laugh burst out of me—sharp, bitter, and entirely humorless.  

My phone buzzes on the table, jolting me out of my thoughts. Carla’s name flashes on the screen. My heart tightens for a moment, then releases with a rush of hot anger.

Normally, I’d brace myself, let her venom seep in while biting my tongue. I’d absorb every cruel word like a sponge, pretending it didn’t bother me, and cry to Nathan afterward, hoping—praying—he’d defend me.

Not this time.

I swipe to answer and hold the phone to my ear, my hand shaking—not with fear, but with fury.

“Five years, Emily. Five years, and still no heir,” Carla’s voice slithers through the line, sharp and biting. “At this point, don’t you think it’s time you stepped aside? Let someone else take over. You’ve had your chance, and you’ve failed. The St. Claire family is embarrassed. You’re pathetic.”

My grip tightens on the phone. I don’t wait for her to finish.

“Carla,” I say, my voice like steel. “I’ve had enough of your nonsense.”

She goes silent, clearly not expecting resistance.

“You want to talk about failure?” I continue, my tone cutting. “Let’s talk about your family’s reputation before I came into the picture. Nathan married me because I’m the only thing keeping your house of cards from collapsing. Without me, you’d all still be stuck groveling for handouts while drowning in bad business deals. So let me make something crystal clear: if I get another call like this—another word from you—then I’ll show you where you belong, and trust me, it’s far beneath me.”

The line stays quiet, the air crackling with tension. Carla stutters, “You—you can’t speak to me like that.”

“Oh, but I just did,” I snap. “And if you don’t like it, maybe you should ask Nathan why he’s too much of a coward to say it himself.”

For the first time in five years, I’m the one who ends the call. I toss the phone back onto the table, my chest heaving. The silence in the room feels different now—lighter, freer.

For so long, I’ve let them walk over me, allowed their words to carve wounds I never showed. But tonight, something in me has shifted.

This isn’t just about Nathan or our non existent marriage anymore.

It’s about me.

I picked up the phone and stared at the video again. My fingers hovered over the delete button, but I stopped. No. Nathan needed to see this—needed to understand that his lies and betrayals wouldn’t go unnoticed.  

I closed the video and tossed the phone onto the table, my chest heaving. I was done waiting for him to choose me, done begging for scraps of his affection.  

This wasn’t just betrayal; it was war.  

As I smoothed the fabric of my dress, I made a silent vow. I would take back everything Nathan had stolen from me—my pride, my time, my trust.  

And it would start with catching him in the act.