The Billionaire’s Baby… But He Says It’s Not His

Erin’s pov “You’re pregnant.” The words don’t feel real. For a moment, I’m just staring at the nurse, blinking like she spoke in a language I don’t understand. “I…” I swallow. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” She smiles, her voice patient and kind. “Congratulations, Mrs. Holmes. The results are positive. You’re pregnant.” My hand pressed instinctively to my belly, as if to confirm it. I nod slowly, clutching the paper she hands me. I gave her a tight hug, murmured a thank you and walked out of the hospital, my legs numb, my heart racing. Pregnant. After months of tests, of hope whispered between kisses and silent prayers, tracking dates, and holding hands through every negative test. Smiling through the disappointment even when it hurt. We’ve been trying for months and here I was finally going to be a mother. We were finally having our first baby together. Noah would be thrilled. He had to be. We’d come so far, from strangers brought together by tragedy to parents. I could already picture his face. His startled, then softening, then that rare, breathtaking smile that made the world tilt a little. I imagined him lifting me into his arms, one of those rare, spontaneous things he only did when he was too happy to speak. We raised Harry together for five years. Noah’s nine-year-old nephew. When Harry was five, he was left orphaned after his parents died in a car accident. Noah’s brother and sister-in-law had passed away; I had been their maid then. The one who kept her head down and tried not to be noticed. But Harry noticed me. He clung to me even when his parents were alive And Noah noticed that too. He never wanted marriage. Never believed in it. But he remembered what it felt like to grow up alone without parents and he didn’t want Harry to feel that kind of emptiness. I was the closest thing to a mother figure his nephew had. So he proposed. A marriage of convenience, he said. A shared solution. He would provide for and protect me as long as I ensured Harry was loved and cared for. But everything changed. Somewhere between the late-night bedtime stories and sleepy Sunday mornings, the laughter over breakfast and soft, uncertain touches under the covers, we fell in love. It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t loud. It was real and felt right. We became a family. And now the miracle we whispered in the dark was finally here. I pressed the envelope to my chest and hailed a cab. My heart pounding as I sat in the back of the cab. I rehearsed it over and over. Maybe I’d slip the envelope into his hand. Maybe I’d blurt it out laughing. Maybe I’d cry. I needed to get home. I just needed to see his face and tell him. The drive home was long but I was finally at the mansion. Harry’s laughter echoed faintly from the back garden. The gardener must’ve been playing tag with him` again. I smiled, already imagining the way his eyes would light up when I told him. “Maybe the baby will play video games with me,” he’d say. I couldn’t believe that I was going to give him a sibling. I stepped inside, heels clicking softly across the marble. “Babe?” I called out. “I’m home!” No answer. I found him in his study, standing near the window, a glass of scotch in one hand. The late afternoon sun cast glows across the whole room. His back turned to me. “Babe,” I said again, softer now. He didn’t move. “I-I have something to tell you.” I stepped inside, clutching the paper like a lifeline. “I just came from the hospital.” Nothing. My heart began to beat. “It’s good news,” I added, trying to sound cheerful. “I think-—no, I know it will make you happy.” Finally, he turned. But his eyes weren’t soft. His expression was blank and cold, like he was looking through me. “I’m pregnant,” I said softly. The room was silent, not the surprised silence I'd imagined. Not lifting me in his arms or even a smile. He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just stared at me with a kind of detached calculation I couldn’t understand. I took a step closer. “Did you hear me? Still nothing. “Noah?” My voice cracked a little. He exhaled once, a short breath, and turned his back to me again. “I have a meeting.” That’s all he said. No questions. No anything. He walked past me, out of the door, and left me standing there with trembling hands and a seeking heart that suddenly didn’t know what to feel. I sat on the edge of his leather chair, numb. My hands holding the paper tight. What just happened? Why did he look at me like I’d said something wrong? Please come back and tell me it’s all a prank. I quickly brought out my phone to check if it was April 1st but it wasn’t . Later that day, I gathered the courage to try again. I found him pacing quietly in the hallway, staring at nothing. “If I’ve done something,” I said gently, “please just tell me. We didn’t eat together tonight. You won’t even look at me. Please Noah… If this is some kind of joke, stop. This is one of the happiest moments of our lives. You can’t do this to me.” He paused. Looked at me, expression unreadable. “Give me space,” his voice low. I felt the ground shake under my feet. “Noah—” “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.” And just like that, he walked away. I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. That night, I climbed into Harry’s bed and slept beside him. His little arms wrapped around me, his sleepy smile the only comfort I had. I didn’t tell him about the baby; I couldn’t after seeing how Noah reacted. We just played video games, and when he drifted off, I stayed awake for a long time, watching the ceiling and wondering what I had done to Noah. What hurt me the most is that he didn’t even tell me what I did. The next morning, I buried the pain. Harry’s tenth birthday was at the end of the week, and I threw myself into party-planning mode. A small part of me knew Noah would come around so I decided to use my time to make something magical for Harry. I went out for decorations, cake samples, and balloons, trying to distract myself with checklists and receipts. I even smiled at the cashier when she complimented my dress. But the moment I stepped back into the house, that smile disappeared. There, at the foot of the staircase, sat my suitcase. Next to it, a folder. On top of the folder was a single sheet of vintage paper. It looked like the one we used to write love letters on during our romantic getaways. I didn’t need to pick it up. I saw the words boldly. Divorce.