All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Discarded Bride : Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Bella POVThree months in, and my body declared war on everything I had ever loved. It started with Caleb's cologne.I had always loved that scent — I had never once complained about it in all the months we had spent carefully, cautiously rebuilding what existed between us. But on a Wednesday morning in early spring, I walked into the bedroom where he was getting dressed for a board meeting and the smell hit me like a wall."Stop," I said.He turned, one cufflink in, watching me with the particular patience he had developed over the last several weeks — the patience of a man who had learned very quickly that there was absolutely no predicting what was coming next. "What did I do?""Your cologne." I pressed my hand flat against my chest. "Take it off.""Bella""Caleb." I kept my voice very calm. "I am asking you nicely, take it off."He looked at me for a moment, then walked to the bathroom without another word and came back later smelling of plain soap. I breathed in carefully, decid

Bella POVHe kissed me again, slower this time, his tongue stroking mine in a way that made my knees weak. “You’re carrying our baby,” he whispered hotly against my mouth, his free hand slipping under my blouse to caress the bare skin of my back. “You’re glowing, your body is changing in the most beautiful ways, and all I can think about is how much I want to worship every inch of you. Tell me exactly what you need tonight. I’ll give it to you. Slow and deep, or hard and fast—whatever your body is begging for.”His words sent another rush of heat through me. I pressed closer, feeling the hard line of his arousal against my hip. “Hard,” I breathed. “I want to feel you lose control a little. I want to feel wanted like this.”Caleb groaned, his forehead resting against mine. “You are wanted, every single day. I look at you across a room and remember how you taste, how you sound when you come for me. In that lunch meeting today? When I leaned over the table? I saw the way your eyes darken

Caleb POVI had dismantled hostile takeovers, survived my father Victor Black's cruelty, and faced Bella's powerful return after her absence. But nothing prepared me for this pregnancy.By week nine, I was scentless and exiled from my own kitchen to avoid triggering her. By week eleven, I accepted the biological logic of her sensitivities without complaint. However, I was completely baffled by the sheer specificity of her cravings. I had researched everything in secret to avoid appearing excessive, yet I was still caught off guard."James," I said on a Friday afternoon, standing in the kitchen while Bella sent him a text from the other room. "What's she asking for?"James checked his phone. His expression remained professionally neutral. "A specific brand of pickled ginger, sir. Available at one retailer in East London."I looked at him."I'll leave immediately," he said.James flew to London specifically because the brand of pickled ginger Bella wanted was only sold at one family-run

Caleb POVThe chair next to her bed wasn't meant for sleeping; by the second night, my back was certain of it but I refused to leave anyway.Around midnight, the first nurse offered a proper couch in the family room."I'm fine here," I said."Mr. Black, you really should get some proper rest," she replied gently. "You can't support her if you're running on empty.""I appreciate that. I’m fine here."She didn't push, just checked the monitors and left.The next morning, a younger nurse tried a more direct approach. "The chair isn't good for your back," he noted."My back is managing," I told him.Bella watched the exchange from over the top of her book, with the expression of someone who found it mildly entertaining."He won't move," she told the nurse. "I've tried.""You haven't tried," I countered."I told you the chair looked uncomfortable.""That's not the same as trying."The nurse made a quick note on his clipboard and gave up. From then on, they stopped asking, and I respected t

Caleb POVShe weighed four pounds, two ounces. I asked three times, as if the number might change if I heard it enough. It didn’t. Four pounds, two ounces. My daughter—smaller than anything I had ever been responsible for, tucked into an incubator with wires monitoring the things her body was still learning to do.The NICU nurses were extraordinary. I saw it immediately—the steady competence of people who care for the most fragile humans without panic. They called her Grace, not Baby Black. They talked to her while checking monitors, assuming she was listening.I started doing the same. I felt foolish at first, then stopped caring."You're doing well," I told her on the first day, repeating the nurse's words. "The numbers are good. I’ve been watching the monitors; I’ve learned what they all mean because I have a lot of time and I retain information under pressure."The monitors beeped in time with her breathing."Your brother wants to meet you," I said. "He’s been—well, 'patient' isn'