My Billionaire Husband Begged Me to Stay

"Congratulations, Ms. Atwood. You're 1 month pregnant, and the baby is healthy." For several seconds after the doctor broke the news, Ingrid sat stunned. Then a smile slowly spread across her face. She gently covered her lower abdomen with her hand. This child should never be a bargaining chip to save her marriage. Even so, she couldn't help wondering whether they might have one more chance to start over. She didn't message Wesley. She wanted to tell him face-to-face at home. But on the way back, rain fell without warning, and her car broke down. She called him. He answered almost immediately, his voice calm. "What is it?" "My car broke down. Can you come pick me up?" "I'm busy. I can't get away right now. Call roadside assistance." "I..." He hung up before she could finish. Ingrid stared at the dark screen for 2 seconds. Remembering the faint female voice she'd heard during the call, she lowered her phone, then called roadside assistance. By the time she got home, she was soaked through. A rush of warm air greeted her as she opened the door. In the living room, Wesley was crouching beside the couch, tucking a blanket around Pamela Atwood. His fingers brushed her shoulder with an ease that suggested he'd done it a thousand times. Standing in the doorway, Ingrid watched the hand adjusting Pamela's blanket and felt the damp chill seep into her heart. Cold air blew through the open doorway. Only then did Wesley look at her. His lips parted, but all he said was, "Close the door." The pregnancy report was still in her bag. Ingrid no longer saw any reason to take it out. Sheltered by the shadows in the entryway, she pulled out her phone and photographed the scene. When she didn't respond, Wesley got up and walked past her. The door slammed shut before he finally stopped beside her. A faint scent of ebony reached her as he asked stiffly, "How did you get so wet? Take Mrs. Osborn to get changed." "Don't you owe me an explanation, Mr. Osborn?" she asked. Only when she spoke did she realize how hoarse she sounded. Her head felt dizzy, too. She looked at him. Wesley raised a hand as though to brush the wet hair away from her cheek. Ingrid instinctively turned away. His hand hung in midair before he withdrew it. "She was drunk. It's raining. She's staying the night." "That's all?" "What else do you want to hear?" She'd been married to him for 1 full year, yet his heart had always belonged to Pamela. Whenever Pamela called, he came running. Ingrid was always the one left behind. Now he'd even brought her home. He had time to take care of Pamela, but none to ask where his own wife was. Ingrid had thought a baby might change their marriage. Now she understood that the only person changing was her. She pushed his hand away from her cheek. "Wesley, let's get divorced." Her voice was quiet, without a trace of petulance. She looked at him. "I'll speak to Grandpa. I'll take care of the paperwork, too. You don't need to worry." She didn't ask whether he agreed. She'd already asked herself this question too many times. Back in the bedroom, she took out the pregnancy report, slipped it inside a book of sheet music, and packed it in her suitcase. Now that she was getting divorced, she would also leave the marital home she'd lived in for just 1 year. ***** At 7:30 a.m. the next morning, the sound of the door opening woke her. Through her blurry vision, she saw Wesley carrying in a glass of milk himself. Normally, he would've left for the office by now. "Since you're awake, get up and drink this. The housekeeper just warmed it. Lightly sweetened. We need to talk." He sat beside the bed and set the glass on the nightstand, his indifferent voice leaving no room for argument. Ingrid didn't look at the milk. As for talking, she agreed that they needed to. "I'll be ready soon. Go downstairs and wait for me." Wesley glanced at his watch. "Remember to drink your milk." Again, the irony struck her. Yesterday, he hadn't cared that she'd been caught in the rain, yet he remembered her morning glass of warm, lightly sweetened milk. She picked it up and poured it straight into the toilet. Occasional thoughtfulness wasn't proof that this relationship was worth continuing. When she went downstairs, Wesley was alone at the dining table. Pamela had already left. He was on the phone. Ingrid couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, only see the slight crease between his brows. After a moment, he said, "I'll be there soon." "Is something wrong?" she asked. All she wanted now was to settle the divorce and get out of this marriage as quickly as possible. "Pamela was in a rear-end collision. I have to go to the office anyway. It's on the way." He glanced at Ingrid, then added, "About yesterday..." "If you're busy, go ahead, Mr. Osborn. I'll have someone draw up a divorce agreement for you. All I want is the house at Ridgeview Manor." That house had originally been left to her by her mother. She wasn't demanding compensation beyond the marriage; she was reclaiming what was hers. When she'd married into the Osborn family, her father hadn't prepared anything for her. Instead, he'd demanded 75 million dollars from them. The Atwoods had been the ones to benefit from the marriage. "Ingrid, about the divorce..." His ringing phone interrupted him. She glanced at the illuminated screen. Pamela's name seemed to glare at her. "She's calling again. You should go, Mr. Osborn." The screen went dark, then lit up with another call. Looking irritated, Wesley picked up his phone and stood. "We'll talk when I get back." Only after the door closed did Ingrid look down at her still-flat stomach. "Sweetheart, Mommy will take responsibility for your future herself." She picked up her phone and called Judith Maddox. "Are you at the firm? I need you to be my divorce lawyer."