TOO LATE, BILLONAIRE

Two Pink Lines

The first good thing to happen to Aurora Reyes in years came wrapped in two pink lines.

Positive.

Aurora stared at the pregnancy test in disbelief, the roar of Manhattan traffic muffled by the hospital’s heavy glass windows. Her fingers trembled, the plastic stick slick against her palm as a violent cocktail of emotions crashed against her ribs.

Fear. Shock. Hope.

A jagged, broken laugh escaped her. She clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes stinging with hot tears. A baby. She was carrying Evander’s child. For a heartbeat, the frost of her marriage didn't matter. The suffocating silence of the Drakos mansion, the jagged rumors, the hollow loneliness—it all faded into the background.

Because maybe… maybe this was the anchor. The thing that would finally make them real. Aurora lowered her gaze, pressing her palm against her stomach with reverent care.

“Hi,” she whispered, her voice thick and trembling. The word alone nearly broke her. She had been a ghost for most of her life. Shuffled between foster homes after being abandoned as a child with nothing but a frayed pink jacket and a note no one bothered to keep. No legacy. No home. No one.

Until Helena Drakos.

The matriarch had changed everything. Aurora still remembered stepping into the Drakos estate at eighteen, a nervous wreck hired to assist Helena’s nurse. She’d expected the cold cruelty of the elite—the untouchable, "royal" families of Manhattan.

Instead, Helena had smiled, the warmth reaching her aged eyes. “Those sad eyes don’t belong on a girl your age,” she’d said.

Aurora had loved her instantly. And miraculously, Helena had loved her back. Enough to leave behind a final, dying wish.

Marry Vander.

Two years later, Aurora still didn't understand the why of it. Because Vander Drakos had never looked at her the way a husband should.

Their marriage was a contract written in ink and public appearances. He gave her everything money could buy—penthouses, designer labels, a security detail that felt more like a cage. He gave her everything except himself. But God, she loved him. She loved him with a desperation that bordered on humiliating.

Maybe today changes the rules, she thought, a fragile smile touching her lips as she tucked the test into her purse. Manhattan was a blur of charcoal clouds and weeping rain.

“Drakos Global Holdings,” she told the taxi driver. The man’s eyes flickered to the rearview mirror. Everyone in New York knew that name. It was synonymous with old money, shipping empires, and absolute power. And at the center of the storm sat Vander Drakos. The city’s youngest billionaire CEO. The man with ice in his veins and a kingdom at his feet.

As the taxi pulled up to the towering black-glass monolith, Aurora felt that familiar spark of dread. The building was a monument to silent luxury—all marble, dark glass, and gold accents. When she stepped into the lobby, the atmosphere shifted. The receptionists recognized her instantly, and just as quickly, their professional masks slipped into something sharper.

“Good afternoon. I’m here to see my husband,” Aurora said, her voice soft but steady. The blonde receptionist didn't even look up. “Do you have an appointment?” Aurora blinked. “I—no. But I’m Aurora Drakos.”

A heavy, pointed silence followed. The two women exchanged a look—the kind of look reserved for a charity case who had overstayed her welcome.

“Convenient marriage,” the brunette muttered, just loud enough to draw blood. Aurora’s grip tightened on her purse. She pretended the words didn't burn.

“She’s brave, showing up today,” the blonde whispered. “Especially after yesterday’s headlines.”

Yesterday.

The rumors had been a wildfire. Gossip sites were plastered with photos of Evander and a woman who looked like she’d been carved from marble. Tall. Elegant. European royalty. The media was already calling her “The Real Mrs. Drakos.” Aurora had tried to convince herself it was just business. But she knew her husband. He never came home looking guilty. He came home looking indifferent. And indifference was a far more brutal weapon than guilt.

“I can call his assistant,” Aurora started, but the words died in her throat. The private elevator pinged, and the lobby went dead silent.

A stunning brunette stepped out first, her fitted black dress hugging every curve, her lips a lethal shade of crimson. She was laughing, a low, intimate sound.

Then Vander appeared. Cold. Devastating. Imposing.

His charcoal suit fit his broad shoulders with military precision. His sharp, silver eyes were fixed on the tablet in his hand, his expression a mask of bored command. Power rolled off him in waves. Aurora’s breath hitched. No matter how many times he ignored her, her heart still reacted like a fool.

Then, the woman reached out, her fingers lingering on Evander’s arm in a way that screamed possession. And Aurora felt the fragile hope in her chest shatter into a thousand jagged pieces.