The Billionaire Rejected Me

Prologue

“Say ‘fuck you,’ kiddo.”

“Fuc—”

“What kind of nonsense are you teaching my child?!” I snapped, cutting him off just as my son was about to repeat the word.

I was only halfway up the stairs when I heard the shameless things this man was teaching my child. He was exactly like his older brother—the one who left me high and dry when I was only three weeks pregnant.

“So when he meets my brother, he’ll already be an expert!” he laughed, tickling my son’s stomach.

I still didn’t know how he found out about my pregnancy—or that his brother was the father. Zon was three years old when he suddenly appeared in our lives, threatening to tell his brother the truth if I didn’t allow him to see his nephew.

“Just leave, Laki!” I was one second away from throwing my slipper at his grinning face.

“You’re bad, Tito Laki. You made Momma angry,” my five-year-old scolded, crossing his little arms over his chest. He was turning six soon.

“Do you want your daddy, kiddo? I can bring him here—”

“Really?” Just like that, he had fooled my child again.

“Laki?” I called coldly.

He turned to me with a playful grin.

“Would you like a double slap?”

He quickly raised both hands in surrender, though the smirk never left his face.

And just like that, the past came rushing back.

I was 18 years old when Zon’s father left me.

I still remember holding my stomach while crying in front of the man whose child I was carrying.

“Who is she, Laz?” the beautiful woman beside him asked softly.

“Get in my car, baby,” Laz told her.

Then he turned to me, his eyes hard and merciless. “What are you still looking at? Leave.”

But I couldn’t leave. I just stood there, crying in front of him.

“Laz? Why is she crying? Tell me,” the woman asked again, her voice gentle—like an angel’s.

“Get in the car now, Sammantha,” Laz said sweetly.

The way he spoke to her made my chest ache even more.

“L-Lazarus… please…” I begged, until I found myself kneeling in front of him.

It hurt. God, it hurt so much.

I didn’t love him. But I didn’t want my child to grow up without a father.

I wasn’t doing this for myself.

I was doing it for the baby.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair before I lowered my head and touched the wet pavement.

Suddenly, he knelt in front of me and grabbed my hair, forcing me to look at him.

His eyes were cold. Harsh.

“I don’t want to see your face again. If you show up in front of me, I won’t hesitate to push you away.”

His words shattered whatever strength I had left. I cried harder.

He released my hair roughly and stood up, wrapping his muscular arm around Sammantha’s waist.

“Wait, Laz—”

“Get in, okay?” he cut her off and kissed her forehead.

She had no choice but to obey.

Lazarus opened the driver’s seat and was about to get in when I stood up.

“Y-You’re selfish,” I said through my tears. “But thank you. Thank you for giving me this little blessing. I hope you sleep peacefully every night, Lazarus.”

He didn’t respond.

He just got inside the car and drove away.

I stood there, watching until the rain began to fall.

I held my stomach.

Three weeks pregnant.

Begging the father of my child for help.

And he left.

“Y-Your daddy left us, baby…”

Almost six years have passed, but every detail remains painfully clear.

“Zon! Baby, what did you do?” I rushed toward the living room. I had only left for a minute, yet chaos had already erupted.

Laki had just left after receiving a call from his brother.

Zon quickly hid the toy cars behind his back, even though he was caught red-handed.

“Broom, Momma?” he asked innocently.

“It’s not a broom, baby. It’s a car,” I corrected gently. He only knew the sound a car made, so he called it a broom.

He lowered his head, looking a little sad because of my stern tone.

“Come here,” I said softly, extending my hand.

He ran to me immediately.

“Sorry, Momma.” He wrapped his small arms around my neck and kissed my cheek.

“It’s okay, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

After getting ready, we headed out. My cousin borrowed my car, so we took public transportation instead.

“Momma, where are we going?” he asked, his innocent eyes sparkling.

“Where do you want to go?” I smiled.

His expression suddenly changed.

“Da…ddy…”

I froze mid-step, still carrying him. We were just outside our subdivision gate. No cars were passing.

I bit my lower lip.

I had no answer.

To distract him, I decided we’d go to the mall and buy toys. But first, I needed to withdraw money from the ATM near the bank. It was within walking distance, so I carried him to keep him from getting tired.

Years had passed.

He might even be married by now.

We stood in line at the ATM. I held Zon’s hand tightly. When it was our turn, I let go briefly to look for my card.

It took a moment to find it.

When the cash dispensed, my heart nearly stopped.

Zon was gone.

“Zon? Luzon?” I looked around frantically for the fair-skinned child in a black hoodie.

“What’s taking so long, miss? Are you done? It’s my turn!” the woman behind me complained.

I apologized quickly and rushed toward the bank entrance.

My chest tightened.

White vans were still common these days.

I exhaled in relief when I spotted Zon inside the bank.

But then my brows furrowed.

He was following a man dressed in formal business attire, walking toward a private room. The man had his back turned. Zon was craning his neck, trying to see his face, but he only reached the man’s waist.

The man didn’t even notice him.

I ran forward and grabbed my son’s shoulders.

“Zon! Oh God, baby! Don’t walk away without telling Momma!” I knelt in front of him, my voice loud with panic.

The man stopped walking.

I saw his polished shoes turn in our direction.

People were beginning to stare.

“Momma! I found Daddy!” Zon said happily, pointing at the man.

My cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“Shh, baby. That’s not your daddy,” I whispered, mortified, still unable to look at the man.

“But Momma, look!” He raised a photo in his small hand.

It was Lazarus’ photograph.

Where did he get that?

I slowly stood up and turned to apologize.

But the words died in my throat.

Because when our eyes met—

I froze.

Calm. Intense. Familiar.

Those eyes.

My grip on Zon tightened.

“No,” I whispered. “He’s not your daddy, Zon. Let’s go.”

My voice trembled.

“Let’s go find you another daddy.”