Pregnant For My Ex-Husband’s Billionaire Best Friend

Sabrina’s POV.

The silence in the bathroom was so heavy I could hear the blood rushing in my ears.

I had been staring at the plastic strip on the counter for ten minutes, terrified to blink. At first, there was nothing—just the white glare of the test. But then, slowly, agonizingly, the second pink line ghosted into existence. Then it darkened.

Positive.

I didn’t cheer. I didn’t cry out. Instead, I pressed a hand over my mouth, my breath hitching in my chest, trapping a sob before it could escape.

After the weeks of negative tests, the silent car rides home from the clinic, and the nights I’d spent staring at the ceiling wondering if I was broken—here it was. A lifeline.

The morning sun sliced through the blinds, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Outside, the world was waking up, but in here, time had stopped.

Leon is coming home today.

The thought hit me with the force of a physical blow. He had been gone for three weeks on business, though we both knew it was really an escape. He needed space, he’d said. Space from the grief. Space from the pressure of a marriage that had become nothing but ovulation schedules and disappointment.

But this… this changed everything. This was the miracle that would fix the cracks in our foundation.

My hands trembled as I reached for my phone. I needed to say it out loud to make it real. I dialed Tara.

“Hello?" Her voice was thick with sleep.

“Tara," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. "I think… I think it happened."

A pause. Then, the rustling of sheets. "Sabrina? What happened? Are you okay?"

“I’m pregnant."

The silence on the other end was deafening, followed immediately by a sharp gasp. "Oh my God. Are you serious? You’re sure?"

“Two lines," I said, my voice finally breaking. "Clear as day."

“I knew it!" Tara shouted, fully awake now. "I knew it was your time! How do you feel? Are you freaking out?"

I sat on the edge of the cool porcelain tub, clutching the test like a talisman. "I’m terrified," I admitted. "What if… what if it’s like the last time? I can’t survive that again, Tara. I physically can’t."

“Stop," Tara commanded, her tone shifting from excited to fierce. "Don't go there. Different pregnancy, different outcome. You have to believe that. Take a vitamin, drink some water, and breathe. This is a fresh start."

I nodded, even though she couldn't see me. "You're right."

“Also," she added, her voice dropping a casual octave, "Cole called. He’s back in the country. He couldn’t get through to you, but he said he’ll stop by when he’s settled. Just a heads up."

My stomach gave a small, involuntary twist at the name, but I pushed it down. "Okay. Thanks, Tara."

After we hung up, a new energy surged through me. I wasn’t just a wife waiting for a distant husband anymore, I was a mother-to-be with a secret.

I spent the afternoon transforming the house. I roasted Leon’s favorite herb chicken, the scent of rosemary and garlic filling the downstairs. I chilled a bottle of sparkling grape juice—my little secret toast. I put on the soft blue dress he used to love, the one he said made my eyes look like the ocean.

By 7:00 PM, the candles were lit. Soft jazz played from the living room speakers. Everything was perfect.

At 7:15, headlights swept across the front window. My pulse hammered against my wrist.

I smoothed my dress, checked my reflection in the hallway mirror one last time, and opened the door just as he stepped onto the porch.

Leon looked tired. He carried his suitcase in one hand, his phone in the other, his tie loosened.

“Hey," I breathed, unable to keep the smile off my face. "Welcome home."

He paused on the threshold, a cold draft swirling in from outside. He didn't drop his bag. He didn't move to kiss me. His eyes were focused somewhere past my shoulder, and when they finally met mine, they were empty.

“Thanks," he muttered, his voice flat. He walked past me, dropping the suitcase with a heavy thud near the stairs.

I closed the door, the cold air from outside lingering on my skin. "I made dinner," I said, trying to keep my voice bright. "Your favorite. I thought we could—"

“I'm not hungry," he said. He didn't even turn around. He stood in the middle of the room, staring at the unlit fireplace, his back stiff as a board.

The unease started in my stomach, cold and sharp. "Leon? Is everything okay?"

He finally turned. His face was a mask—pale, drawn, and terrifyingly blank.

There was no warmth in his eyes, only a strange, dull resolve. "We need to talk," he said.

The four words every wife fears.

I took a step toward him, my hands instinctively going to my stomach, a gesture I instantly suppressed.

“Okay. You’re tired. We can talk over dinner. I thought—"

Leon cut me off, the words coming out steady and rehearsed. "I filed the papers this morning. I want a divorce, Sabrina."

The world tilted. "What?"

“I filed the papers this morning," he said. His voice was steady, rehearsed. "I can’t do this anymore."

I stared at him, my brain failing to process the input. "You… you just walked in the door. You’ve been gone three weeks. We were supposed to be working on things."

“I was working on moving on," he said coldly.

“But… why?" I stammered, tears stinging my eyes. "Is this because of the baby we lost? Because Leon, I have news—"

“It’s not just the miscarriage," he cut me off, his voice rising. "It’s the grief. It’s the constant heaviness in this house... I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of failing."

“So you just quit?" I cried, stepping closer. "You don't think I'm tired too? But I’m still here! And if you just listen—"

Leon stopped me with a look of chilling finality. "I’ve met someone else, Sabrina."

I felt like I had been punched in the throat. "You cheated on me."

“I found happiness," he corrected, as if that justified the knife in my back. "I'm done trying, Sabrina. I've filed the papers."

He finally looked back at me, and his eyes were full of a strange, chilling relief. "And she is pregnant. We're keeping it."

The words sucked the oxygen out of the room. The candles flickered on the dining table, casting long, dancing shadows that suddenly looked mocking.

“You… what?"

“I didn't plan for it to happen," he said, avoiding my gaze now. "But Zara makes me feel alive. She doesn't carry this weight that you do."

I choked out the tears finally spilling over. "You let me try for a baby... while you had one halfway out the door with another woman?"

“I'm sorry," he said, grabbing his suitcase handle again. "I just came to get my things. I won’t be staying the night."

He walked past me, brushing my shoulder, and headed up the stairs.

I stood alone in the hallway. The smell of the roasted chicken—the meal I made to celebrate our new life—suddenly made me nauseous. I wrapped my arms around myself, shielding the tiny life inside me from the wreckage of the life that just ended.