Pregnant and Rejected by My Billionaire Husband

Melbourne, Australia, 10:00am.

EZRAN'S POV.

I had exactly three problems that morning.

One, my mother was getting married again, two, the black suit I was forced to wear made me look like a guest at a funeral, and three, this wedding was happening whether I liked it or not.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror, staring at my reflection like it belonged to someone else. Twenty-one years old final-year college student and future programmer, if life didn’t take another turn before graduation. My jaw was clenched and my dark curls refusing to stay neat no matter how much I tried to brush them.  

“Ezran,” my mother called from outside the room, her voice careful. “We’re running late.”

Of course we were.

I exhaled slowly and grabbed my phone, staring at the news outlets.

Popular model and ex beauty contest Queen, Aubrey Cameron, 42, remarries Billionaire mogul and tech expert, Robert Banks, 58, in a grand style, 5 years after having a scandalous divorce with producer ex husband, Edwards Williamson.

My eyes moved down to the comments and I sighed. Everyone who remembered mom's messy divorce from my dad gave their unsolicited advice.

Shoving the phone into my pants pocket, I sighed again before stepping out. My mother, soon-to-be Aubrey Banks, stood in the hallway, glowing in white lace and expensive diamond jewelry. Forty-two years old and still painfully beautiful, she looked happier than I’d seen her in years.

That was the problem.

She deserved happiness. I knew that. After the messy divorce with dad, after five years of being alone and after rebuilding herself piece by piece.

But did that happiness really have to come as a fifty-eight year old billionaire who already had grown-up kids?

What if they don't accept her or they accuse her of being a golddigger?

“You okay?” she asked softly, searching my face when she noticed I was spacing out.

I nodded because arguing would change nothing. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie we both pretended to believe.

The wedding venue was massive—glass walls, white roses, gold accents everywhere. Wealth screamed from every corner. This wasn’t just a celebration, it was a show off of wealth.

I spotted the groom almost immediately.

Robert Banks, my soon-to-be stepfather.

Tall. Brown-haired with streaks of gray. Calm in the way men get when they’ve lived long enough in affluence and extravagance. He smiled when he saw my mother, took her hand like she was something precious and kissed her knuckles.

I quickly looked away.

Applause followed them down the aisle. I stayed seated, clapping out of obligation, not emotion. Somewhere between the vows and the music swelling, I felt something settle in my chest: finality.

This was real and permanent. I now belonged to a family that wasn’t mine.

At the reception, introductions happened too quickly.

“These are my daughters,” Robert said, gesturing toward two women standing beside him. “Charlyn and Jeanne.”

Charlyn Banks was dressed in a black suede dress with diamond studs, her Louboutin heels clicked as she took a step forward. 

She looked elegant, too sophisticated and composed, already studying me like a puzzle she’d decide whether to solve later.

Jeanne Banks looked younger in a purple two piece and silver platform heels.

She flashed me a nervous smile, uncertainty flickering behind her eyes.

“Hi,” she said, offering her hand. “Guess we’re family now?”

I snorted before I could stop myself. “Unfortunately.”

Her smile widened. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”

Something eased inside of me. Well, just a little.

We talked about small things. College music and how awkward this all was. For the first time that day, I felt like I wasn’t suffocating.

Halfway through the reception, the walls started closing in again. Too many whispers and too many eyes pressing against my skin.

I slipped away toward the restroom, ignoring the distant clink of glasses and forced laughter. 

The hallway was quiet, cool and lonely.

“Jesus!” I exclaimed. “What a relief!”

I fished out my phone from my pocket as I turned the corner, my head collided with a hard rock surface.

“Ouch!” I winced as my phone slipped from my fingers.

“Watch where you’re going.” The voice was deep, flat and obviously annoyed.

I looked up and froze.

He was tall, broad-shouldered and dressed in a black tuxedo like he’d stepped out of a business meeting rather than a wedding. Sleek, dark hair brushed neatly back, sharp features carved in restraint, eyes so cold that they made my spine straighten instinctively.

“Maybe don’t stand in the middle of the hallway,” I snapped, stepping back to retrieve my already cracked phone.

His gaze lingered on me longer than necessary. Assessing. Dissecting.

“You’re rude,” he said calmly.

I laughed once. “You bumped into me.”

“You walked into me, kid.”

For a moment, neither of us moved. The air felt tight and charged in a way I didn’t like or didn’t understand.

“You’ll need some manners as you grow older, kid.” he said suddenly.

I frowned. “Excuse you?”

“Get lost,” he replied, then brushed past me without another word.

I stood there, pulse loud in my ears, watching his retreating back.

Who the hell was that?

I returned to the reception unsettled, irritation clinging to my face. Jeanne noticed immediately.

“You look like you just lost a fight,” she whispered.

“I ran into an unfortunate jerk,” I muttered.

Before she could respond, Robert’s voice carried across the room.

“There’s someone important I haven’t introduced yet.”

I turned.

The man from the hallway sat on a golden seat, expression unreadable, clasped hands placed on a table, like he owned the room.

“This is my son,” Robert said proudly. “Lucian Banks.”

The name hit harder than it should have.

Son.

My chest tightened as realization slammed into place. Lucian’s eyes met mine, recognition flickered and something darker followed.

Stepbrother.

The word echoed in my head, heavy and wrong.

He didn’t smile or react. Just nodded politely as guests murmured their approval.

And in that moment, standing under the crystal chandeliers, I knew one thing with terrifying certainty:

This marriage hadn’t just rearranged my family, it had dragged something dangerous into my life.