My Billionaire Ex Wants The Baby He Never Knew

The divorce papers sat on the marble table between them, crisp and merciless under the penthouse lights. Sophia Carter stared at her own name printed in black ink. Sophia Blackwell. Soon to be crossed out forever. "Sign it," Ethan said. He didn't look at her when he said it. He was looking out the window at the city he owned half of. "Ethan." Her voice cracked on his name. "Can we at least talk about this like adults? Three years of marriage and you're ending it over a phone call from your grandfather?" He turned then, and the look in his eyes was colder than she had ever seen it. Colder than the night they met, when he'd been guarded but curious. Colder than their wedding day, when he'd been nervous in a way that made her fall for him even harder. "You married me for my money," he said. "I never loved you. I think we both know that's the truth, Sophia. Let's not pretend otherwise." The words hit her like a slap. She actually stepped back, her hand finding the edge of the table to steady herself. "That's not true," she whispered. "Where is this even coming from?" "Victoria showed me everything." He said the name like it explained itself. "The messages. The bank transfers. The plan you made with your college friend before we even got engaged." "What messages? What bank transfers? Ethan, I don't know what you're talking about." "Don't." His jaw tightened. "Don't stand there and lie to me. I've given you three years, a name, access to everything I own, and this whole time you were laughing behind my back with your friend about how easy I was to fool." Sophia felt the room tilt. She wanted to grab his arm, force him to look at her properly, make him see that whatever he thought he knew was wrong. But something in his face told her it wouldn't matter. His mind was already made up. He had already buried her. "I want to see this evidence," she said quietly. "I have a right to see what's being used to destroy my marriage." "It's handled." His voice was flat. Final. "My lawyers have everything. Sign the papers, Sophia. Take the settlement. It's generous." "I don't want your money." "Everyone wants my money." A humorless smile touched his lips. "That's the one thing I know for certain now." She looked down at the papers again. Her hands were shaking, but underneath the shaking there was something else starting to grow. Anger. A cold, quiet anger that would take root and never fully leave her, not even three years later. "You won't even let me defend myself," she said. "There's nothing to defend. I've made my decision." "Fine." The word came out steadier than she expected. She picked up the pen sitting beside the papers. "Fine, Ethan. If that's who you think I am after three years, then maybe you're right that we never should have gotten married." "Sophia—" "No." She held up a hand, silencing him for the first time in the conversation. "You don't get to say my name like that. Not anymore." She signed her name. Sophia Carter. Not Blackwell. She wrote it the way she used to write it before him, before all of this, and something about seeing her maiden name on that line made her chest ache in a way she hadn't expected. Ethan watched her sign without saying a word. When she set the pen down, he finally reached for the papers, scanning them briefly before sliding them into a folder like it was any other business transaction. "I'll have your things sent to wherever you're staying," he said. "I'm staying here until I find a place." Her voice was steady now, cool in a way that surprised even her. "You can have your lawyers coordinate a reasonable timeline for that. Unless you'd like to throw me out onto the street tonight to complete the performance." Something flickered across his face. Not quite guilt. Not quite doubt. Something smaller than that, something he clearly didn't want to examine too closely. "Take whatever time you need," he said stiffly. "How generous of you." She turned and walked toward the bedroom that had been hers for three years, her heels clicking against the marble with a rhythm that sounded almost defiant in the heavy silence of the penthouse. She didn't let herself cry until the door was closed behind her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sophia pressed both hands against her stomach. Not from nausea, though the nausea had been there off and on for two weeks now. From something closer to fear. Two weeks ago, a small plastic stick had changed everything, and she still hadn't found the words to tell him. Now she never would. Not like this. Not to a man who thought she was nothing more than a liar chasing his fortune. She would raise this baby alone if she had to. She would build something of her own, something no one could take from her with a folder full of lies. Whatever Ethan Blackwell believed about her, he was about to lose more than a wife. He just didn't know it yet.