Hiding The Billionaire's Son After Divorce

Valeria's POV 

Divorce papers.

I always knew it would come to this. It’s been a slow, agonizing countdown since the day we got married—when he revealed to me that he only married me for revenge because he believed I was responsible for the accident that killed Isis, the woman he loved. He knew just how much I loved him. I had always loved him, but that didn’t stop him from telling me just how much he hated me. He said this marriage was going to be my punishment; his own special brand of hell.

And then he threw me outside.

In the middle of the night. Still wearing my wedding gown, barefoot, soaked, crying my eyes out on the pavement while the sky wept with me. He walked right past me the next morning like I was a stranger, like I didn’t exist, while I lay there shivering on the cold tiles outside the mansion—his mansion. I was nothing more than an unwanted stain on his perfect life.

Now, here we were, full circle. His lawyer had pushed the thick envelope across the mahogany dining table. The very table I had eaten alone at for three years.

I stared at the pages inside. My fingers trembled slightly, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to cry… or celebrate.

I had imagined this moment so many times. I had nightmares about it. I dreaded it, feared it, prayed it would never come. But now that it was here… there was something cathartic about it. Like ripping off a bandage from a festering wound. It hurt like hell—of course it did—but a small part of me felt… relieved. Maybe now the suffering would finally end.

After all, I had only ever been a wife on paper. There was nothing to mourn here. Nothing beautiful to look back on. Nothing real.

“Sign them. I can no longer stand to see your face or pretend like I don't want to strangle you with my bare hands every time I lay eyes on you.”

His voice was ice, every word spat with disgust. He slammed his palm on the table, jerking me out of my thoughts.

I blinked up at him, swallowing hard. Luka stood across from me, tall and broad-shouldered in a crisp black shirt rolled at the sleeves, the veins in his forearms taut from tension. His stormy grey eyes were narrowed and his angular jaw was clenched tight.

He was a striking man—beautiful even—with dark, tousled hair that always looked effortlessly styled, a straight nose, and high cheekbones that gave him an almost regal profile. Women fawned over him. He was charming when he wanted to be. But the man standing before me now was nothing but bitter fury dressed in designer clothes.

Should I cry? Beg? Ask for a second chance?

No. What was the point when he had never given me a first chance?

We had been friends since we were kids. Grew up together. Laughed together. I had spent years loving him from the sidelines. And all it took was an anonymous text for him to believe I was a murderer. To turn on me without question. Just a single message—one line blaming me for Isis’s accident—and suddenly I was the enemy.

I had been tried, judged, and sentenced to this nightmare of a marriage.

Three long years of silent dinners. Locked doors. Cold stares. No job, no career, no purpose. He wouldn’t let me work, destroyed every business I tried to start. Because he needed me dependent. Powerless. That was how he controlled me. How he punished me. He humiliated me, isolated me from everyone I loved, made me miserable all while perfecting the good husband act in public. To the outside world, I was his beloved wife who was very sick and hence could never appear with him in public.

I had hidden it all from my overprotective billionaire father because I loved Luka just that much, so confident in my delusions that he would change. There's no wishing this away now.

I signed the papers.

The scratch of my pen was the only sound in the room.

Luka’s lips curled into a twisted smirk as he yanked the documents back. “Good,” he sneered. “I want you out of this house by morning. Don’t take anything I bought. You’ll get no alimony. Not a damn cent from me.”

I didn’t respond. I barely even heard him.

Because my mind had drifted again, back to the night that had haunted me ever since.

It was just a few weeks ago. Luka had come home so drunk he could barely stand. His company had just reported the biggest profit margin in five years and the investors had insisted on a party. I wasn’t allowed to attend, of course. I wasn’t even allowed to exist outside this house.

I stayed home like always. I was used to it. Invisible, forgotten, left behind.

That night, I’d been curled up on the couch, watching some random movie and pretending the popcorn didn’t taste like ashes. The doorbell rang around midnight. I opened it to see our driver struggling to keep Luka upright.

“He’s... had a lot,” the driver said apologetically.

“I’ll take him,” I replied, taking my husband’s arm and dismissing the driver.

It was hard getting him upstairs. I’m not even sure how I managed it without tumbling back down the staircase. But I got him onto the bed, eventually.

I was going to leave him there and walk away.

But he grabbed my wrist.

“Don’t go,” he whispered.

Then he kissed me.

It was… everything I had ever wanted. Everything I had dreamed of. My heart took flight, my skin burned, my soul ignited.

I thought… maybe… maybe he was starting to see me again. 

He undressed me and made love to me—or maybe just had sex with me, I don’t even know anymore. But I felt alive. I felt seen. I had always wanted my first time to be with him, and for a few minutes, I was flying.

Until he moaned her name.

Isis.

Right there, in the middle of everything, while he was still deep inside me, he said her name.

It was like a knife to the heart. A spike driven straight through my chest.

But I didn’t stop him.

I couldn’t.

I was weak when it came to Luka. I always had been. I let it happen. I convinced myself it meant something. I tried to believe that maybe, deep down, he still felt something for me.

And now… now I was pregnant.

I’d just come back from the doctor’s office. Four weeks along.

I had no idea how to tell him. I’d been dreading it. I knew what he would say. That I was lying. That I cheated. That I was trying to trap him.

He didn’t even remember that night. I knew it.

He’d deny everything and force me to get rid of the baby.

But now…

Now I didn’t have to tell him. He would never have to know that I was carrying the heir to the Thorne empire in my womb. I ran a hand over my stomach subtly.

Luka took a deep breath and straightened his jacket, his face carved in ice. “Don’t contact me. Don’t show up. Don’t try anything stupid. As far as I’m concerned, you’re dead to me.”

He turned and stormed off.

And still, I sat there.

Calm.

Too calm, really.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts, dialing my father's assistant.

“Clark?” I said when he picked up.

“Yes, Miss Daelmont?”

“I just got divorced. Please book me a flight to New Zealand and don’t tell my dad.”