All Chapters of Winning Back My Pregnant Wife: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

SarahI dodge a few more high-society couples offering their warm congratulations as I desperately search the crowd for Marcus. When he’d first run off toward the terrace, I hadn’t been too worried. I figured he was just temporarily set off by the sheer audacity of Julian showing up at our celebration. Now, as the minutes stretch painfully long, I’m nowhere near as sure.My steps grow quicker, a sharp edge of anxiety guiding me as I walk the perimeter of the grand ballroom. I force tight, polite smiles at complete strangers as they stop me to express how incredibly happy they are for Marcus and me. Most of these people were invited directly by the Kane family. I recognize a few faces from his corporate office, but for the most part, it’s a blur of unfamiliar, wealthy faces stopping me for quick, superficial chats while all I want to do is find my fiancé.After coming up completely empty-handed in the ballroom, I begin checking the smaller, interconnected reception rooms. Nothing. My h

SarahMy entire body goes dead, terrifyingly still. The air leaves my lungs in a sharp gasp.*I couldn't have heard him correctly.* That makes absolutely no logical sense. That viral article was the entire catalyst for his current situation—it was the reason his corporate board threatened to remove him and pressured him to clean up his playboy image in the first place. There is no possible way Marcus would have paid a gossip columnist to destroy his own reputation.My teeth dig violently into my lower lip as I try to assemble a coherent response. I refuse to believe Julian’s drunk, unhinged delusions, but looking at his unstable state, I know it would be dangerous to outright accuse him of lying.“Why... why on earth would he ever do that?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.Julian clicks his tongue against his teeth in exaggerated disappointment. He reaches up, patronizingly tapping his index finger against my forehead.“You’re so much smarter than this, Sarah. Think about it. What ha

MarcusI move like her shadow, taking the steps two at a time right behind her, refusing to let her out of my sight. “You have the entire context wrong, Sarah! If you would just fucking sit down and let me explain, I can show you how wrong you are!”“I don’t care anymore, Marcus!”She stomps down the upper hall toward her old guest room, making a desperate attempt to slam the door straight in my face. It doesn't work. I catch the heavy oak edge with my palm, shoving it wide open and striding right in after her.She goes straight for the walk-in closet, dragging a black hard-shell suitcase out from a dark corner and slamming it onto the bed.“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I ask, my pulse hammering in my throat.She glare at me over her shoulder, her expression cold. “I’m packing my things. I’m leaving. And you’re not going to stop me. I refuse to stay in this apartment for another second knowing I was just some sick instrument of revenge against Julian.”I run both hands ag

SarahIt’s not the same sleeping alone.I toss and turn all night, unable to turn off my mind with the questions soaring relentlessly through it. The night wasn’t supposed to end the way it did. We were supposed to come home happy, celebrating our future surrounded by friends. I wanted to finish what we’d started in the limo, to make good on the promise of me wearing nothing but heels for him.Instead, I spent the night staring at the ceiling of my old guest room, my heart aching in a hollow, silent apartment.When the grey dawn finally breaks over the city, I roll over in bed to grab my phone off the nightstand. The screen lights up with a barrage of missed notifications. It seems like a lot more people than I’d expected noticed how completely off I was after my encounter with Julian on the terrace. A dozen acquaintances reached out to check in, but the only people I bother responding to are Winnie and Emma in our group chat.WINNIE: How are you feeling this morning, Margie?EMMA: I’

GenevieveFriday, noon sharp.I arrive in the alley by Christian’s garage door and type in the passcode. The door grinds open with a slow, mechanical groan that echoes off the narrow brick walls. I close my umbrella, step inside out of the chill, and Christian—waiting right by the heavy interior door—hits the button to close it behind me. The garage door slides back down, sealing us into the dim, shadowy quiet.Christian looks the same superficially as always: the male-model, pretty-boy thing with the sharp jawline and thick hair. But he’s all nerves today, wearing a deep frown on his face and dark circles under his eyes that even his expensive skin creams haven't managed to hide.I follow him up the stairs, my heels clicking softly against the steps. It smells different in here today. Usually, there isn’t much of a scent one way or the other—maybe a faint hint of his overpriced cologne, or a trace of body odor if he’s been working out recently. Now, the air is thick and pungent with