The Billionaire’s Convenient Ex-Wife

I was falling.Wind rushed past my ears, glass shards glittering around me like deadly diamonds in the afternoon sun. fifteen stories. How long does it take a body to fall fifteen stories? Long enough to see your life flash before your eyes? Long enough to regret every choice that led you here?Long enough to realize nobody would miss you when you're gone?Long enough to realize you haven't actually lived?My hands flew instinctively to my stomach. My baby. My miracle. "Please God, not my baby," I sobbed into the rushing wind. After three years of trying, of praying, of enduring painful treatments—this tiny life inside me couldn't end before it began.My eyes squeezed shut. Not because I was afraid to see the ground rushing toward me, but because I couldn't bear the memory of Blake's face—impassive, cold, watching me fall without even an ounce of concern.Three years of marriage. Three years of trying to be perfect. And he just watched.The wind suddenly stopped. Pain exploded across

Dominic Blackwood stood in the doorway, his imposing frame filling the entrance. Unlike the disheveled Reynolds family, he looked immaculate in a charcoal suit. His storm-gray eyes swept over the scene, taking in everything with a single glance.“This is a private family matter," Victoria hissed, lowering her hand slowly. "You have no business here.""On the contrary." Blackwood stepped into the room, moving with the confident grace of a predator. "When someone catches a woman who's been pushed through a window, I believe that creates a certain responsibility."Richard straightened his tie, switching instantly to his public persona. "Mr. Blackwood, we appreciate your assistance yesterday, but this situation is being handled.""Is it?" Blackwood's eyebrow lifted as he glanced at my reddened cheek. "Interesting handling technique."Victoria's nostrils flared. "How dare you imply—"“I'm not implying anything," Blackwood interrupted smoothly. "I'm stating facts. Mrs. Reynolds fell—or was

I woke to the sound of whispering just outside my door and the immediate realization that I signed a contract to be married to ruthless billionaire Dominic Blackwood in just 24 hours.The whispers continued and I frowned.At first, I thought I was dreaming. My body was still sore, my skin tight where bruises were blooming, and everything felt heavy—like grief pressing into my bones. But the voice was real. Low, urgent. Female.I shifted slightly, trying not to wince, and turned my head toward the door.And there she was.Delilah.What is she doing here?Dressed in white again, as if purity could be bought, her hair swept up in a glossy twist, lips painted the same shade of red she wore when she tried to kill me.She stood close to the doctor attending to me. She leaned in and whispered something. I couldn’t hear it.But I saw the smile she gave me when the doctor turned toward my door.It wasn’t a smile of victory. It was a promise.Then she walked away. What the hell?The doctor cam

The nurse unhooked my IV with trembling hands, like she was afraid to touch me now.I didn’t blame her. I didn’t blame her at all.After what happened earlier in the hospital room, the entire staff had started treating me like I was radioactive. Or like I was an egg.And that was fine with me. Rather be treated like an egg than a filthy rag.I am not leaving as the disgraced ex-wife anymore.I am leaving as Dominic Blackwood’s bride.He waited by the door in his custom black coat, eyes cold and unreadable. No one dared speak to him as we walked through the polished white halls of the hospital—guards in black trailing behind us.And when the glass doors slid open and the flash of a hundred cameras exploded in my face?I didn’t flinch.He pulled me closer with one hand at the small of my back.Reporters surged forward, microphones aimed like weapons.“Scarlett, is it true you were pushed—”“Are you pregnant with Blake Reynolds’ child?”“Is it true you’ve been taken in by Dominic Blackwo

The suite was quiet—too quiet.It’s my wedding day and even though I know it’s not necessarily a happy day for me, this is utterly weird I thought to myself. I stood barefoot in my silk robe, staring at the garment bag I was told contained my wedding dress. One of the assistants had just wheeled it in with shaky hands and a pale face.Something felt off.Jules leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “Why does everyone look like they just escaped a murder scene?”I stepped closer and unzipped the bag.The scent hit first—chemicals. Then the visual.My breath caught.The dress was ruined.The soft champagne silk was slashed down the middle, the sleeves shredded beyond repair. The bodice was smeared in something thick and dark red—paint or blood, I couldn’t tell. The delicate veil? Burned. Melted at the edges like someone took a lighter to it and let it curl into ash.“Where’s the stylist?” I asked, my voice low and even. “She was supposed to be here already.”The assistant