The Billionaire’s Convenient Ex-Wife

“Oh my God, Blake!" A moan, unmistakable and loud, froze me outside my husband's office door.

What?

My knuckles stopped just inches from the polished brown wood, suddenly unable to complete their journey.

Another moan followed, this one deeper, masculine. Blake's voice.

No. Please, God, no.

The calla lilies I'd spent an hour selecting wilted in my grip as my hand fell limply to my side. The pregnancy test I'd tucked carefully in my purse that morning suddenly felt impossibly heavy against my hip.

Two pink lines. After three years of trying, of crying, of pleading with heaven for a miracle.

Three years of constant humiliation, of monthly disappointments followed by ruthless scrutiny from the Reynolds family, it looked like I finally had proof of my worth.

I, Scarlett, the worthless daughter of my father's mistress, had managed to conceive the next heir of the prestigious Reynold estate.

Tears threatened to fall down my cheeks and my heart beat so loud and hard against my chest that I was afraid it would beat right out of it.

I should leave. Should turn around, pretend I'd never come. But my trembling fingers betrayed me, pushing the door open just enough to see inside.

Blake's back was to me, his broad shoulders moving under the suit I'd pressed this morning after his mother dismissed our housekeeper again. Between his legs stood a half naked woman I'd never seen before—tall, elegant, red-haired.

Her head tilted back in pleasure as her manicured fingers clutched at his belt, touching my husband in ways I'd almost forgotten were possible.

"Scarlett believes whatever I tell her," Blake said, his voice gentle as he kissed this woman. "She's... simple that way. Keeps the house, attends the functions, smiles for photos. That's all she's good for."

The redhead laughed softly. "The poor dear. Does she really have no idea?"

"None whatsoever. Not the brightest bulb, my wife."

I must have made a choked, crying sound then, my purse slipped from my numb fingers, hitting the marble floor with a dull thud. Lipstick, wallet, keys, and the pregnancy test scattered, spinning across the polished surface like some terrible game pieces.

They didn't startle. Didn't separate. Didn't even pretend.

Blake turned slowly, his steel-blue eyes landing on me without any ounce of guilt or shame. Just... irritation. Like I was a door-to-door salesman interrupting his day.

"Scarlett." My name sounded like an inconvenience in his mouth.

Slowly they started to disentangle, taking their sweet time.

Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall. Not yet. Not in front of her. "B-Blake, what's—"

"You weren't supposed to be here," he interrupted, fixing his tie, relaxed.

I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. The redhead—polished, confident, everything I'd spent three years failing to become—looked me up and down with a pitying smile.

"Oh, you must be Scarlett, the wife." She stepped forward, hand extended as though we were meeting at one of Blake's charity galas. "I'm Delilah. I've heard... well, I've heard some things."

I stared at her outstretched hand, then at the massive diamond ring glittering on her finger. So much larger than the modest band Blake had given me on our wedding day.

Did my husband give her that?

"Who are you?" My voice came out small, fragile.

"Who am I?" Delilah's smile widened as she leaned back against him, her body fitting against his with so much ease. "I'm Delilah Knight, I am the next Mrs. Reynolds."

I turned disbelieving eyes to my husband who just checked his watch—the Rolex I'd saved for six months to buy him—and sighed. "This is unfortunate timing."

"What timing? W-What's happening?" I whispered, though I already knew. My stomach twisted painfully. "What's going on here?"

Delilah turned to Blake, "You didn't tell me your ex wife was dumb plus barren too."

She turned back to me with a sneer. "Do you not understand basic English or do you need me to spell it out for you? I am the one fucking your husband and I'm the one taking over your name once you're thrown out!"

Shaking terribly, I turned to my husband, hoping all this is just a crazy joke. "Blake?"

"It's over, Scarlett." Blake's voice was flat, like he was ending a business call. "Divorce papers are being finalized. You'll get the condo in Westside, a monthly allowance for two years. More than fair, considering the circumstances."

I clutched the wilting flowers against my chest. "Circumstances?"

"Don't be deliberately obtuse," Blake snapped, his patience visibly thinning. "Three years. Three wasted years waiting for you to do the one thing the prenup required—produce an heir. The agreement was crystal clear: no child within three years, marriage nullified."

The pregnancy test on the floor seemed to mock me with its pink lines.

"I never agreed to that," I said, my voice barely audible.

"Your father did." Blake's smile was cold. "Why do you think a man like me married someone like you? Your father needed my family's money to cover his gambling debts. I needed a socially acceptable wife. You were the transaction."

"So I was just... breeding stock?" The words tasted bitter.

"Don't be melodramatic," Blake said with obvious disdain. "You got plenty from this arrangement. The lifestyle, the status, the credit cards. Your family was nothing before you married into mine."

Delilah moved toward me, her expensive perfume washing over me in sickening waves. "It's not personal, honey." Her voice dripped with false sympathy though her eyes gleamed with cruelty. "Some women simply aren't meant to be mothers. Look at you—weak, pathetic, broken. What kind of mother would you make anyway?"

I can't believe this, my husband, the man I've spent all my youth loving and taking care of is going to divorce me right after I may be able to give him everything he's wanted after all these years?

I knelt in a rush, gathering my scattered belongings, fingers closing around the plastic pregnancy test. "Blake, please, there's something you need to—"

"There's nothing left to discuss." His voice cut through me. "It's business, Scarlett. Always has been. The Reynolds name requires an heir. You failed to provide one. Delilah succeeded. Simple equation."

"Was any of it real?" My voice broke. "Any moment? Any touch?"

Delilah laughed, the sound like glass shattering. "Oh darling. Men like Blake don't marry for love. They marry for dynasty." She loomed over me as I knelt on the floor. "He's been with me for over a year. Every 'late meeting.' Every 'business trip.' With me. Those nights you cried yourself to sleep after another negative test? He was wrapped around me."

Something inside me—something small and wounded—finally snapped. Without thinking, I lunged upward, my open palm connecting with her perfect face.

The sound echoed through the office like a gunshot.

Delilah staggered back, shock freezing her features for just a heartbeat before her expression transformed into something feral, almost inhuman. "You stupid bitch! You DARE touch me? You pathetic, barren little WHORE!"

She lunged, not just grabbing my shoulders but slapping me hard across the face. The sting brought fresh tears as her nails raked my cheek, drawing blood.

"You think he ever wanted you?" Her words came in poisonous hisses as she slapped me again and again. I tried to fight back but my shock and heartbreak had already weakened me, I could do nothing but cry as slap after slap was delivered to my face. “You're NOTHING! A walking INCUBATOR that couldn't even do that right!"

I hadn't realized how close we were to the floor-to-ceiling windows. My back hit the glass with enough force to make it vibrate dangerously. I glanced back in fear when she didn't stop pushing me harshly against the now creaking windows.

fifteen stories below, the city sprawled out, tiny cars and people going about their day, oblivious to my life shattering above them.

"Look at you," Delilah snarled, her perfectly manicured hand wrapping around my throat. "Pathetic. Crying. Useless." She leaned closer, her breath hot against my face. "Everyone would be better off if you just... disappeared."

"ENOUGH!" Blake's voice thundered through the office, but—and this was when my heart truly shattered into dust—he remained rooted in place, watching dispassionately. Not moving to help me. Not even concerned.

"She attacked me first!" Delilah shrieked, her composure completely fractured. "Your wife is INSANE! She should be LOCKED AWAY!"

"Soon-to-be ex-wife," Blake corrected with ice in his voice. "Scarlett has always been... unstable."

Tears streamed down my bleeding cheek as my trembling fingers clutched the pregnancy test I'd retrieved from the floor. "Blake," I sobbed, not just begging now but pleading for my life, "please, if you'd just listen—"

"We're done here." He turned away dismissively, as if I weren't being assaulted before his eyes. "Sign the papers by Friday or things get uglier. Your choice."

"I'm pregnant," I whispered through my tears.

The office went so silent I could hear the blood rushing in my ears.

Blake turned back slowly, his expression calculating rather than surprised. "What did you say?"

I held up the test with violently shaking hands. "I found out this morning. I came to—to tell you the good news."

Delilah recovered instantly, her laugh cruel. "How PERFECTLY convenient! She's lying to save her pathetic marriage!"

Blake's eyes narrowed—that same evaluating look he used when deciding whether to destroy a business rival. "Even if that's true, how do I know it's mine?"

The accusation struck like a knife to my heart. "W-what?"

"Your miraculous fertility after three barren years." His lips curled with disgust. "Who have you been whoring with, Scarlett? The gardener? My brother Chase who's always so concerned about your wellbeing?"

"There's no one," I sobbed, barely able to speak through my tears. "It's yours, Blake. Only ever yours. You KNOW that."

Delilah's face contorted with rage. She stepped forward again, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "He doesn't want you OR your bastard baby. The world would be better without either of you."

Her hands shot out, grabbing my shoulders. She smiled—actually SMILED—as she hissed, "Just die already," and pushed with all her strength.

The window behind me gave way with a horrifying crack. Glass shattered outward as my body tipped backward into empty air. For one suspended moment, I hung there—half in the office, half suspended over a fifteen-story drop, nothing but concrete and death awaiting below. Delilah had my blouse in her manicured grip, holding me at her mercy.

"No! No, please don't do this!" I begged over and over. I didn't want to die. Not when it looked like my life finally had some meaning!

She snickered. "Oh don't look at me, beg your husband."

Trembling hard, I looked at the man that was supposed to be my husband and stretched my hand toward him. "P-please, help me Blake... I don't want to d-die."

Blake just stood watching, not moving an inch to save me, no flicker of concern or alarm crossing his handsome face. Not even caring if the mother of his child plummeted to her death.

Delilah smiled again. "Did you really think he was going to help you? Die, bitch!" She let go of her hand on my blouse.

And I fell hard. "No!!!"

In that final heartbeat between life and oblivion, as gravity began to claim me, I saw the truth in his cold eyes: I had never been anything but a business transaction with an expiration date.

And that date was today. I was going to die with my child in my womb.