Married to the Cold Billionaire

Chapter 7

Catherine didn't linger after handing the paper bag to Travis’s secretary. She left immediately, despite the desperate ache in her heart to see him. She had longed for even a fleeting glimpse of her husband, a man she hadn't seen since their confrontation the night before, but she suppressed the urge. She knew her presence would only sour his mood. To Travis, she wasn't a wife. She was the woman who had sabotaged his happiness, the tether that had forcibly pulled him away from Lianne.

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the suffocating thoughts. Every time she dwelled on his resentment, her chest tightened as if an invisible hand were crushing her lungs.

Driving through the city, she finally arrived at the OB-GYN clinic. After filling out the paperwork, she sat in the waiting area, her eyes tracing the floor until the door opened. A pregnant woman emerged, leaning into the protective embrace of a man who was clearly her husband. They were radiant, their eyes sparkling with a shared secret as they whispered to one another.

Catherine bit her lip, a sharp pang of envy slicing through her. She has someone to hold her hand, Catherine thought. She closed her eyes, imagining Travis standing beside her, his hand on the small of her back. But she quickly killed the thought. It was a beautiful illusion, and she knew better than to dream.

"Mrs. Ashford? The doctor will see you now."

Catherine forced a polite smile and entered the examination room.

"Good morning, Doctor," she said quietly.

"Good morning, Mrs. Ashford," the OB-GYN replied, glancing toward the door as if expecting someone else to follow. "Are you alone today? Your husband couldn't make it?"

Catherine licked her dry lips, forcing a smile to mask the sudden sting in her eyes. "H-he’s out of the country on business, Doctor."

"I see," the doctor murmured, gesturing toward the table. "Let’s get started then."

As the cold ultrasound gel touched her skin, Catherine’s breath hitched. She stared intently at the monitor, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"Do you see that?" the doctor asked, pointing to a small, flickering shape. "That’s your baby. Perfectly healthy. And that rhythm right there? That’s a strong, steady heartbeat."

Relief washed over Catherine like a tide. She asked about her frequent morning sickness, and the doctor reassured her it was normal for the first trimester. Before leaving, Catherine made a small request.

"Doctor... could I have a copy of the sonogram?"

"Of course," the doctor smiled, handing her the black-and-white image along with a new prescription for prenatal vitamins. "Show this to your husband when he gets back. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see your little one."

If only, Catherine thought.

She spent the afternoon at her parents' house, seeking the comfort of her old bedroom while they were away. She fell into a deep, heavy sleep, only waking when the shadows of evening had stretched across the room. It was nearly six o’clock.

Panic surged through her. She needed to get back to the mansion. She hated the idea of Travis arriving home to an empty house, even though he usually stayed out late. She raced back, her heart racing faster than the car.

When she pulled into the driveway, her heart sank. Travis’s black sedan was already parked there. He was home. And she was late.

She took a shaky breath, gathered her shopping bag of vitamins and milk, and grabbed the sonogram from the dashboard. She hurried inside, her head down, hoping to slip away to her room unnoticed.

"Where were you?"

The cold, baritone voice made Catherine jump so violently that she lost her grip. The paper bag and the sonogram tumbled from her hands, scattering across the floor.

She didn't look at the mess. She looked at Travis. He was standing in the shadows of the foyer, his brow deeply furrowed as he glared at her.

"T-Travis," she stammered, hating the way her voice betrayed her.

"I asked you a question. Where did you go?"

"I... I just had to go somewhere for a bit—"

"For a bit?" he cut her off, his eyes narrowing. "Are you sure about that, Catherine?"

She instinctively moved her hand to cover her stomach, a protective gesture she couldn't suppress. She caught a flicker of something in Travis’s eyes, a momentary flash of curiosity or perhaps recognition, but it vanished instantly, replaced by a wall of cold fury.

"Pick up your mess," he commanded, his voice devoid of emotion. "I won't have trash cluttering my home."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

She knelt down, her fingers trembling as she reached for the paper bag. Then, her gaze fell on the sonogram lying face-up on the polished floor.

Pick up your trash.

The words echoed in her mind, turning her blood to ice. To him, this wasn't the first image of his child. It wasn't a life. It was just trash.

Tears blurred her vision, hot and stinging. She snatched the sonogram from the floor, frantically brushing off invisible dust as if she could shield the image from his cruelty. When she finally looked up, she realized Travis wasn't looking at her anymore.

He was staring at the small, grainy photo in her hand.