Billionaire, I Am Not Your Wife!

Chapter 1 SEDONA The white lights located on the ceiling in the hospital hallway buzzed silently overhead as I sat in the uncomfortable plastic chai tensed as I clutched my phone tightly in my trembling hands. I had been waiting for nearly forty minutes at this point for my doctor, Dr. Reynolds to call me back with my test results, and the knots in my stomach had tightened with each passing minute as I anticipated the worst. I couldn't wait any longer. I needed to hear my son's voice. My fingers moved almost automatically tapping the first number that popped up in my speed dial, which happened to be my husband Logan's, line. I pressed the dial button and watched as the phone rang once, twice, three times before he finally answered. "Logan, where did you take Nick?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady even as another wave of nausea rolled through me and I forced myself not to throw up on the floor. "I'm not feeling well. Can you please bring him home? I haven't seen him in three days." There was a pause on the other end, followed by muffled sounds in the background, it sounded like laughter, maybe? Children screaming with delight in the background. "Sorry, not tonight," Logan said flatly, his voice carrying that detached tone it had held for the past two months whenever he was addressing me. My heart sank at his words. "Why not?" He didn't give an answer. I pulled my phone from my ears and saw that the call was still ongoing so I repeated. "Logan, I asked you a question. Why can't you bring our son home?" More silence. I could hear the sounds more clearly now, it sounded like carnival music, and I could also hear the distant roar of a roller coaster. My chest tightened at this. "Are you with Katherine?" The name tasted bitter on my tongue. "That's none of your business, Sedona." The line went dead. I stared at my phone, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped it. None of my business? Our son was with them, and it was none of my business? Before I could process what had just happened, my phone chimed with a new message. My blood ran cold when I saw Katherine's name on the screen. I shouldn't have opened it. I knew I shouldn't have, Katherine had sworn to be a thorn in my life, a very painful thorn, but I was a masochist and couldn't stop myself as my fingers moved of their own accord, tapping the notification. The photo loaded slowly, each picture a fresh stab to my heart. There they were—Logan, Katherine, and Nick—standing in front of Cinderella's Castle at Disneyland. Logan had his arm around Katherine's waist. Katherine was holding Nick's hand, her perfect smile glowing under the sun. And my baby, nIck was beaming at her with pure adoration, that I hadn't seen in months. They looked like a family. A complete, happy family. And I was the outsider. Shame and fury was fighting for dominance inside me as I pulled up Katherine's number with shaking fingers. She answered on the first ring, as if she'd been waiting for my call. "Katherine," I said, my teeth gritted with pain as I spat. "I don't care what game you're playing with Logan, but Nick is my son. You can have Logan if that's what you want, but you will never, ever take my child from me." "Really?" Her voice was light, amused, like I'd just told her a particularly entertaining joke to her. "Why don't you ask Nick about that?" "What are you—" "Nick, sweetie, your mother's on the phone. Do you want to talk to her?" My heart leaped. Yes. Yes, I needed to hear his voice, needed him to tell me that he missed me, that he wanted to come home. "Mom?" Nick's voice came through, but it wasn't the sweet tone I'd been hoping for. It was annoyed, exasperated. "What do you want?" "Nick, sweetheart, I—" "We're having fun. Stop bothering us. You're so annoying." The line went dead. I sat there, frozen, the phone pressed against my ear even though there was nothing but silence on the other end. My six-year-old son had just called me annoying. He'd told me to stop bothering them. As if I was a stranger interrupting them and not his mum. "Mrs. Hayes?" I looked up to find Dr. Reynolds standing in front of me, a manila folder clutched in his hands. His expression was grave, the kind of look that Immediately told me that he planned on delivering bad news. "Let's talk in my office," he said gently. I followed him, on autopilot, my mind still reeling from Nick told me. The office was bigger than I expected, although it had been on autopilot, cramped with medical books and framed diplomas. I sank into the chair across from his desk, waiting for the bad news to drop. Dr. Reynolds sat down and opened the folder, studying the papers inside for a long moment before looking up at me. "Sedona, I'm not going to sugarcoat this. Your test results show significant abnormalities. Combined with your symptoms—the persistent pain, the nausea, the weight loss—we ran additional scans." He paused, for a moment before he continued speaking. "You have gastric cancer. Stage three. It's already spread to the lymph nodes." The words didn't make sense at first. They were just sounds, syllables strung together. Cancer. Stage three. Spread. "What does that mean?" I heard myself ask, my voice sounding distant, like it belonged to someone else. Dr. Reynolds's expression softened with sympathy. "With aggressive treatment—chemotherapy, possibly surgery—we might be able to extend your life expectancy. But I need to be honest with you. Without treatment, you're looking at three months, maybe four at most. With treatment, perhaps a year, maybe more if you respond well." Three months. Ninety days. I thought of Nick's face in that photo, smiling up at Katherine. I thought of Logan's arm around her waist. I thought of my son calling me annoying, telling me to stop bothering them. "Mrs. Hayes? Sedona? Do you have someone you can call? You shouldn't be alone right now." I shook my head slowly. Who would I call? My husband who wouldn't answer? My son who found me annoying? I'd cut ties with my family years ago when I ran from that arranged marriage, too proud and too in love to ever go back. "I'm fine," I whispered, though I was anything but. Dr. Reynolds scheduled a follow-up appointment, handed me pamphlets about treatment options and support groups, said something about hope and fighting spirit. I nodded mechanically, taking the papers he pressed into my hands. I walked out of that hospital in a daze, clutching my death sentence in a manila folder. The summer sun was too bright, the Chicago streets too loud. Everything still felt like a dream, and I was watching it happen to someone else. My phone buzzed with another message. Another photo from Katherine. This time, the picture was of Nick asleep in a hotel bed, Logan sitting beside him, his hand gently stroking our son's hair. I stood on the sidewalk, people rushing past me in their busy lives, and I felt something inside me finally break. I had given up everything for them. My family, my career, my entire identity. And for what? To be a replacement for the woman my husband actually loved? To be an annoyance to my own child? I had three months to live. And I was going to die unloved, unwanted, and completely alone.