The Billionaire’s Accidental Baby

Chapter 3:Reveal

POV: Isla

There is a teacher at my school named Priya. She mentioned once that her sister is a paralegal. I email Priya at 6:00 AM on Friday morning.

Hi Priya, sorry for the early email, I write. You mentioned your sister works in law. Do you think she might have five minutes to look over some documents for me? It's a personal matter.

By 8:00 AM, Priya texts me back with her sister's number. I sit in the school private room, dial the number, and describe what I found to a woman named Maya.

I am absolutely fuming, the heat of a massive, devastating betrayal burning in my chest. "I found a hidden folder in my husband's office," I tell Maya, my voice shaking with raw anger. "There is a medical report from two years ago showing he has been permanently infertile this whole time. He has zero sperm count. But he let me believe my own body was failing us. And worse, I found a clinic consent form in his drawer that I never saw before—one that agrees to use an anonymous donor sample, and it has my signature at the bottom. But the handwriting looks wrong. I think he forged it to steal my choice."

"Send me the photos, Isla," Maya says, her voice professional and calm. "I will look at them right now."

I sent thirteen photos. Then, I wait.

Two hours later, during my prep period, my phone buzzes on my desk. It is a text from Maya.

Those signatures don't match your other forms, the text reads. The pen pressure is different and the letter formation is inconsistent. If someone was asked to testify about these, a handwriting analyst would agree with me.

Before I can even type a reply, my phone rings. It's Maya. I answer it immediately.

"Isla, listen to me," Maya says, her voice turning incredibly grave. "What your husband did isn't just a betrayal. It is a serious criminal offense. Forging medical consent forms and altering a procedure involving your body without your knowledge is highly illegal."

The word criminal echoes loudly in my ears, sending a chill straight down my spine. "I... I am considering a divorce," I whisper, gripping the edge of the desk.

"You have every right to," Maya replies gently. "But right now, you are in shock and you are dealing with a lot. Think about it carefully, take some time, and tell me what you want to do later. When you are ready to make a move, I can help connect you with a family lawyer who handles fraud."

"Thank you, Maya," I say softly before hanging up.

I leave school at 2:30 PM, a full hour before my usual time. I tell the main office I have an important family appointment which was a lie.

I take a cab home in total silence. When the cab arrives, I ask the driver to drop me off down the street instead of right in front of the building. It is a habit I don't remember forming, but I want a few seconds to see the place before going inside.

As I walk up, I freeze. Dylan's car is parked in the driveway.

My heart starts to beat fast, but I force myself to walk up the steps. I unlock the front door and let myself in.

Simone Carter is standing in my kitchen.

She is wearing her jacket—the camel-colored wool one. I remember telling her it looked good on her last November at her birthday dinner. She bought it two weeks later and has worn it all winter. She has her keys in her hand.

When I walk in, her face changes fast. Her expression cycles through three different emotions in under a second before landing on something warm and a little too deliberate.

Dylan was standing by the counter. He was very close to her, in the particular way of someone who just took one quick step backward.

Dylan looks at me, his eyes wide with complete surprise and a flash of panic. "Isla?" he asks, his brow furrowing as he looks at the clock. "When did you get back from the hotel? You're supposed to be at school."

"Isla," Simone said, her voice easy and practiced. "I was just leaving. I stopped by to drop something off"

"We ran into each other outside," Dylan said at the same time, cutting across her sentence.

A heavy beat of silence followed. The room felt very small as we all heard that their stories did not match.

I folded my arms, looking directly at them, my voice dropping into a hard, demanding tone. "How was your trip?"

Simone, my close friend, who forced a bright, familiar smile. "Oh, sweetie, I canceled my trip," Simone lied smoothly. "I actually came over here to see you. I missed you so much, and I knew you were having a hard week. Dylan just happened to be here when I knocked."

I scoffed, a cold, bitter sound slicing through her excuse. "I was not talking about you," I said, turning my eyes directly onto my husband. "But Dylan... How was your trip?"

"Yeah, babe," Dylan added quickly, his face flushing as he tried to shift the focus. "You never told me you were coming home today."

"This is also my house, Dylan," I said, my voice steady and cold. "I can come back whenever I want."

Simone smiled uncomfortably and turned toward the exit, trying to brush past me. "I really should get going," she said, gripping her keys. "I'll see you soon."

Before she could reach the door, a sudden, hot wave of fury overtook my usual patience. I reached out, grabbed Simone's camel-colored wool sleeve, and dragged her right back into the center of the kitchen.

"You aren't going anywhere," I said

They both froze. I didn't wait another second. I marched straight up to the counter, lunged forward, and dragged Dylan's phone right out of his hand before he could hide it.

"Open it," I commanded, thrusting the screen in his face.

Dylan's face turned a deep, angry red. He tried to snatch the phone back, his voice rising in panic. "What is this? Isla, stop it! What the hell is wrong with you? Give me my phone!"

I looked from his angry, guilty face to Simone, who had gone completely pale. The truth didn't just arrive in pieces anymore; it was standing right in front of me. The mixed-up stories, the panic, the secret travel plans—I had caught them red-handed.

A sharp, humorless laugh burst from my chest. It sounded wild in the quiet kitchen.

"You think I'm stupid?" I laughed, the sound cutting through their lies. "Open the phone, Dylan. Let's see exactly what you two have been doing while I was crying over negative pregnancy tests."