One Night Callboy: Knocked Up by the Ruthless Billionaire

SCARLETT

"The test is negative again, Mrs. Reed. I'm sorry."

The doctor's words hit me like cold water thrown in my face.

I sat on the examination table, paper gown crinkling under me, staring at the floor while the room spun a little.

Negative.

Again.

This wasn't the first time I'd heard those words. It was the fifth.

Maybe the sixth.

I'd lost count because counting hurt too much.

Ethan didn't flinch.

He just nodded once, like the doctor had told him the sky was blue.

No surprise. No disappointment. Just acceptance.

I wanted to scream at him to react.

To look devastated. To hold my hand. Anything.

But he stayed silent, arms crossed, face blank as stone.

The drive home was worse than the appointment.

Forty minutes in the Bentley, city lights sliding across the windows, and not one word between us.

I kept glancing at his profile-sharp jaw locked tight, eyes fixed on the road.

His hands gripped the wheel so hard the knuckles turned white, but he never reached for me.

Never asked if I was okay.

Never said the usual empty things like "We'll try again" or "It's not your fault."

Because to him, it was my fault.

We pulled into the driveway of the mansion. The automatic gates closed behind us with that soft, expensive click.

Lights flicked on automatically as we walked inside.

Marble floors, crystal chandelier, everything perfect and cold.

I followed him up the curved staircase to our bedroom because I didn't know what else to do.

My legs felt heavy, like they belonged to someone else.

Ethan shut the door behind us. Hard. The sound echoed.

He stood there for a second, back to me, shoulders rigid. Then he turned.

His face was different now. Not blank anymore. Angry. Tired. Broken in a way I'd never seen before.

"Okay, I'm done with this shit," he said. His voice came out low at first, then louder.

"Five years, Scarlett. Five fucking years I've waited. Five years of tests, doctors, schedules, pills, injections-and still nothing. Still the same goddamn negative result."

I felt the words land in my stomach like rocks.

He stepped closer, eyes burning.

"Do you know what it's like? My mother calls every week asking when she's getting a grandchild. My father looks at me like I'm a failure. My cousins whisper behind my back. Friends-people I do business with-ask why I don't just divorce you and find someone who can give me an heir. They think you're broken. They think I'm weak for staying."

His words sliced deeper than any doctor's report.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold everything in.

"Ethan..."

"No." He cut me off.

"Don't. I'm tired of hearing excuses. I'm tired of pretending it's fine. My family is ashamed of me. My legacy is dying with me because my wife can't give me a child."

Tears burned my eyes. I blinked hard.

"I want a baby too. More than anything. You know that. It's not like I'm choosing not to get pregnant. It's not my fault."

He laughed-short, bitter.

"Not your fault? Then whose is it? Mine? Because last time I checked, I'm the one who's been perfect on every test. Perfect sperm count. Perfect everything. So yeah, Scarlett. It points to you."

The room tilted. I reached for the dresser to steady myself.

He kept going, voice rising.

"I can't keep doing this. I can't keep walking into family dinners with nothing to show. I can't keep watching my father shake his head like I'm a disappointment. I need kids. I need an heir. And if you can't give me that..."

He stopped. Took a breath. Looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time in years.

"So I'm done waiting," he said.

"I want an open marriage."

The words didn't make sense at first. They just hung there.

"Open... marriage?" I repeated slowly.

"Yeah." He nodded like it was the most logical thing in the world.

"I sleep with other women. You sleep with whoever you want. No questions. No jealousy. We stay married. We keep the house, the money, the life. But I get to have children-maybe with someone else. And you get to have fun without me leaving you."

My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

He kept talking, faster now.

"It's practical. It's modern. It solves everything. I won't divorce you. You'll still have everything. Security. Status. You can even have lovers. No one will judge you. We'll look normal from the outside."

I felt sick.

"You want to sleep with other women," I said quietly.

"And have children with them. While I'm still your wife."

He shrugged.

"It's better than divorce. Better than losing everything we've built."

I stared at him. This man I'd loved for five years.

The man who'd held me when my mother got sick.

The man who'd paid every hospital bill without blinking. The man who'd promised me forever.

He was gone.

In his place was someone cold. Someone desperate. Someone who looked at me like I was the problem.

I felt the slap coming before my hand moved.

My palm cracked across his cheek-hard.

The sound echoed louder than the door slam.

He froze. Cheek red. Eyes wide.

"You're insane," I said. My voice shook, but it was strong.

"You're actually insane if you think I'd agree to that. I'd rather divorce you than live in a marriage where my husband fucks other women and expects me to smile about it."

Ethan touched his cheek. Slowly. Then his expression hardened.

"You think divorce is an option?" he asked quietly. Too quietly.

I lifted my chin. "Yes."

He stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell his cologne-the same one I'd bought him last Christmas.

"You forget something," he said.

"Your mother is alive because of me. The hospital bills? The private room? The machines keeping her breathing? I paid for all of it. Every cent. And I can stop. One phone call. That's all it takes. I tell them to pull the plug on life support, and she's gone. You ready to lose her too?"

My blood turned to ice.

"You wouldn't," I whispered.

"Try me." His eyes were hard.

"You walk out that door talking divorce, and tomorrow your mother stops breathing. Simple as that."

Tears spilled over now. Hot. Fast. I couldn't stop them.

"You would kill my mother to keep me trapped?" My voice cracked. "That's who you are?"

"I'm a man who takes care of what's his," he said.

"And right now, you're mine. You owe me. Five years of waiting. Five years of shame. You owe me children. You owe me respect. And if you can't give me that the normal way... then we'll do it this way."

I backed up until my legs hit the bed. I sank down, hands covering my face.

Ethan watched me cry. No comfort. No regret. Just cold silence.

After a minute he spoke again. Voice softer, but still sharp.

"Think about it, Scarlett. You have a week. Either agree to the open marriage... or start planning your mother's funeral."