Divorced and Remarried: Desired by Two Billionaires

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~Velma’s POV

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at a complicated diagram spread across the desk, pencil hovering above it as I tried to make sense of the lines and measurements.

It had been a quiet morning until Lira, one of my maids, knocked gently at the door, breaking my concentration.

“Madam?” Her voice was careful, polite, but I could hear the tension underneath. “Your mother-in-law… she’s here.”

I froze. My hand stopped mid-air. I knew exactly what that meant. Every time she came, it was a test, a storm wrapped in civility. I put down the pencil, taking a deep breath, forcing the smile I would need to wear.

“Thank you, Lira. Please… tell her I’ll see her in the living room.”

Lira hesitated at the door. She nodded slowly, clearly worried, but left with a quiet click of the door.

I straightened my dress and smoothed my hair, rehearsing the calm, polite voice I would use, the smile I would wear. When I stepped into the living room, she was already there, seated, her cold, calculating gaze fixed on me as though measuring my worth.

“Good morning, Mother,” I said, keeping my voice even.

She looked me over, her expression tight, lips curling in a polite sneer. “Good morning, Velma,” she said flatly. “I suppose you’ve been busy with… whatever it is you do to occupy your days.”

I blinked, keeping my smile. “Yes, Mother. I have been seeing the gynaecologist lately.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Ah, Gynaecologist. As if that will help.”

I felt my chest tighten, but I stayed quiet, forcing myself to remain polite.

Her eyes narrowed. “ You’ve given my son nothing he truly wanted. You’ve never been enough for him.”

The words landed hard, sharper than I expected. I gripped the edge of the chair to steady myself. “Mother… I….”

“You…what?” she interrupted sharply. “You think words can excuse failure? You think he should stay because of your… presence? You should be ashamed.”

I swallowed, trying to hold back the heat rising in my throat. “I’ve done my best. I’ve…”

“Best?” she cut in, voice rising. “You’re barren. Defective. You’re an orphan who only married him for his money. Don’t pretend you’ve done anything right.”

I forced a polite smile, the one I’d worn hundreds of times before. “Of course, Mother.”

She stood abruptly, sweeping toward the door. “I didn’t come here to see you. I came for my son. Not for someone who cannot give him what he deserves.”

I nodded, keeping my composure. “Of course, Mother, but he isn’t around.”

“Then I will wait for him!”

She left, slamming the door to her room, leaving a silence that felt suffocating.

I sank onto the couch, letting the air whoosh out in a long sigh. Lira appeared with tea, concern clear on her face.

“Are you… Okay, Madam?” she asked softly.

I nodded, forcing a small smile, and reached to take the cup, but almost immediately my stomach turned. A wave of nausea hit me, sharp and sudden. I froze, gripping the edge of the couch, trying not to let it show.

Lira’s eyes widened. “Madam? Are you feeling well?”

My stomach twisted violently, and I barely made it to my room, then to the bathroom, before vomiting. I pressed my hands against the cold edge of the sink, trying to catch my breath. My chest heaved, my head spun, and the room tilted around me.

For weeks, I had been feeling off, tired all the time, a constant queasiness I had ignored, telling myself it was stress or maybe something I ate. But now, standing there, a cold thought struck me.

My period… I had missed it.

I stumbled back into the room.

I reached for the drawer and flung it open, my hands shaking as though they had minds of their own. Inside, the pregnancy test lay where I had left it.

I fumbled with it, tearing the wrapper as fast as I could. My bare feet touched the cold wooden floor, making me shiver, and I dashed back into the bathroom.

The moment I saw the two pink lines, my hands flew to my stomach as if I could somehow hold the life inside me close. I pressed my fingers gently against it, feeling a strange warmth and fluttering that made my chest swell in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

I whispered, almost in disbelief, “Oh… after all these years…” My lips curved into a soft, trembling smile, and I sank against the bathroom counter, closing my eyes, letting myself feel the happiness that seemed almost foreign. It was like the world had paused for me in that instant, the noise and tension of everything else fading away.

“I hope it’s a girl,” I murmured, my fingers tracing small, careful circles on my stomach, as if I could already communicate with the tiny life growing inside me.

My laugh was shaky, trembling from nerves and excitement, and I pressed a hand over my mouth, trying to contain it, but it bubbled out anyway.

I imagined her little hands, soft and warm, wrapping around mine, the gentle tug of curiosity and trust. I pictured her laugh, high and clear, echoing through the house, and the way her small voice would call me “Mama,” a sound I had dreamed of for years but seldom allowed myself to imagine. My heart ached with the sweetness of it, and tears threatened to spill as I pressed my palm over my stomach again, feeling the tiny, unknown life that would change everything.

“Oh, Dylan… he’s going to be so happy,” I whispered, my mind already painting pictures of the moment I would tell him, of the way he might smile.

Then my phone rang, sharp and insistent, slicing through the quiet and my daydream. I returned to the room, reaching for it on the shelf. I glanced at the screen. Dylan. My smile widened, thinking of the moment I’d finally tell him.

I swiped and answered, my voice soft, excited. “Hello?”

“Velma… you need to come to the police station. There’s been an accident. Just… come. Now.” His voice was tense, clipped, urgent. Every word hit me like ice water.

“Wait… what happened? Are you okay? Tell me! Please!” My pulse raced, chest tight.

“I’m fine. Just… come. Now. I can’t explain on the phone.” And then he hung up.

I stared at the phone in my hand, fear crashing through me. My hands clutched it like a lifeline. “No, no, no… please, let him be okay,” I whispered. My stomach twisted, and I didn’t stop to think about how I was dressed or how my hai r had fallen loose. I ran from the bedroom, calling for the driver.

“Start the car. Now!”