Divorcing My Billionaire Husband

chapter Two:The Secret

SOPHIA'S POV

I didn't sleep that night.

How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Dominic's face the shock, the confusion, the almost insulting surprise that I'd actually grown a spine.

The Sterling penthouse was silent at 3 AM, the kind of oppressive quiet that made every thought echo louder in my head. I sat in the window seat of my bedroom my bedroom, not ours, because we'd never shared one and watched the city lights blur through tears I refused to let fall.

My phone had been silent all night. No calls. No texts. Not even an angry email from his lawyer.

Still invisible.

Even when I was leaving him, I couldn't hold his attention for more than five minutes.

I pressed my palm against the cold glass and whispered to my own reflection, "Ninety days. You can survive ninety more days."

The woman staring back at me looked hollow. Three years of survival had carved me into someone I barely recognized perfect posture, practiced smile, empty eyes.

But that would change. After the divorce, I'd rebuild myself. Find out who Sophia Carter was supposed to be before she became Mrs. Sterling.

I just had to make it through the next three months without breaking.

The alarm went off at 7 AM.

I dragged myself out of bed, mechanically going through my morning routine shower, skincare, the carefully neutral outfit I'd chosen last night. Beige cashmere sweater, tailored black pants, minimal jewelry.

The kind of outfit that helped you disappear.

Dominic's bedroom door was closed when I passed it in the hallway. I didn't know if he'd come home last night. Didn't care.

Liar, a small voice whispered. You always care.

I ignored it.

Marcus, our driver, was already waiting when I stepped outside. He opened the car door without meeting my eyes had he heard about last night? Did the entire staff know?

"Dr. Morrison's office, Mrs. Sterling?" he asked quietly.

I flinched at the name. "Yes. Thank you, Marcus."

The drive to the Upper East Side medical plaza took twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of staring out the window, watching normal people live normal lives couples holding hands, mothers pushing strollers, teenagers laughing over coffee.

People who weren't trapped in gilded cages pretending to be happy.

"We've arrived, ma'am."

I blinked, realizing we'd stopped. "Right. Thank you. I'll call when I'm finished."

Dr. Morrison's office was all cream walls and abstract art, the kind of place that screamed "expensive healthcare for people who can afford not to wait." The receptionist smiled when I walked in.

"Mrs. Sterling! Right on time. Just need you to fill out this update form, and we'll get you back shortly."

I took the clipboard and sat in the corner, away from the other patients. The form was standard any changes in medications, any new symptoms, any

Date of last menstrual period:

I froze, pen hovering over the paper.

When was my last period?

I flipped back through my mental calendar. Work events, charity galas, that nightmare week when Isabella first returned...

Six weeks ago? Seven?

My hand started shaking.

No. No, that was normal. Stress could delay cycles. I'd been under enormous pressure planning the divorce, dealing with my father's medical bills, surviving in a marriage that was slowly suffocating me.

It was just stress.

Then why are your hands trembling?

"Sophia Sterling?"

I looked up to find a nurse smiling at me. I stood mechanically, leaving the half-completed form on the chair.

"Just the routine physical today?" the nurse asked as she led me down a hallway.

"Yes," I managed.

"Great. We'll do vitals first, then draw some blood for the annual panel. Dr. Morrison will be in shortly."

The next fifteen minutes passed in a blur—blood pressure (slightly elevated), weight (down five pounds since last year), temperature (normal). Then the blood draw, the nurse's cheerful promise that results would be ready in a few days.

I was putting my sweater back on when Dr. Morrison knocked and entered.

"Sophia!" Dr. Eleanor Morrison was in her fifties, warm and professional. She'd been my doctor since I married Dominic recommended by his family, of course. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I lied automatically.

She glanced at her tablet, frowning slightly. "Your chart says you left the menstrual period question blank. Any particular reason?"

My throat went dry. "I... I wasn't sure of the exact date. It's been irregular lately."

"How irregular?"

"Maybe six or seven weeks since the last one?"

Dr. Morrison's expression shifted into professional concern. "And you're normally regular?"

"Yes. Always."

"Any other symptoms? Nausea, fatigue, breast tenderness?"

I opened my mouth to say no, then stopped.

The exhaustion I'd blamed on stress. The way coffee had started tasting wrong. The fact that my bras had felt uncomfortably tight for the past two weeks.

Oh God.

"Sophia?" Dr. Morrison's voice was gentle. "When was the last time you were sexually active?"

My face burned. "About... two months ago."

One night. One single night when Dominic had come home late, stress-drunk from a board meeting, and we'd fallen into our marital bed out of habit more than desire. It had been perfunctory, silent, over in minutes.

I'd barely thought about it since.

Dr. Morrison was already pulling something from a cabinet. "I'd like you to take a pregnancy test. Just to rule it out."

The world tilted sideways.

"That's... that's not possible," I whispered.

"Let's make sure." She handed me a small cup and pointed to the bathroom. "Take your time."

I sat in that bathroom for ten minutes, staring at the cup in my shaking hands.

This can't be happening.

I'd served him divorce papers last night. I was ninety days away from freedom. From starting over. From finally being free.

I couldn't be pregnant.

I couldn't be carrying the child of a man who'd never loved me.

But my hands moved anyway, going through the motions. When I emerged, Dr. Morrison took the sample without comment and disappeared into the lab.

Five minutes passed.

Ten.

Fifteen.

I counted every second, my heart hammering so hard I thought I might be sick.

Finally, Dr. Morrison returned. And the expression on her face told me everything before she even opened her mouth.

"Sophia," she said softly, sitting down beside me. "You're pregnant."

The room spun.

"How far along?" My voice sounded like it was coming from underwater.

"We'll need an ultrasound to be certain, but based on your dates and the HCG levels, I'd estimate around eight weeks."

Eight weeks.

Two months.

Right around the time Isabella Pierce had walked back into Dominic's life and I'd realized my marriage was truly, irreversibly over.

"I need..." I couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't think past the roaring in my ears.

"I can schedule you for an ultrasound next week," Dr. Morrison continued. "We'll discuss all your options then. But Sophia, you need to tell your husband—"

"No."

The word came out sharp, final.

Dr. Morrison blinked. "I'm sorry?"

I stood abruptly, grabbing my purse. "No one can know. Not yet. Not... not him."

"Sophia, you're married. He has a right—"

"He has a right to nothing," I said, my voice breaking. "I can't... I need time to think. Please, Dr. Morrison. Patient confidentiality. You can't tell anyone."

She looked conflicted, but finally nodded. "Of course. But you need to make a decision soon. And you need to take care of yourself."

I nodded, already backing toward the door. "I will. Thank you."

I barely made it to the elevator before the tears started.

DOMINIC'S POV

I stared at the divorce papers on my desk for the tenth time that morning.

My lawyer, Richard Hartford, sat across from me, fingers steepled, waiting for me to say something. Anything.

"This is insane," I finally muttered.

"Is it?" Richard raised an eyebrow. "From what you've told me, your marriage has been... unconventional."

"It was a contract. We both understood that."

"Did she?" Richard leaned forward. "Dominic, I've handled dozens of high-profile divorces. The fact that she waited until the exact moment the contract expired, had papers drawn up without your knowledge, and served you publicly? That's not impulse. That's planning."

I ran a hand through my hair. "She was upset about Isabella"

"Who you were publicly fawning over while your wife stood three feet away." Richard's tone was dry. "Yes, I saw the photos. They're all over Page Six this morning."

He slid his tablet across the desk. The headline made my jaw clench:

"STERLING HEIR APPARENT: Dominic Sterling Reunites with First Love While Wife Watches"

Below it, a photo of me and Isabella, her hand on my arm, both of us smiling. And in the background, barely visible, was Sophia face turned away, champagne glass raised like a shield.

She looked utterly alone.

"Sign the papers," Richard advised. "Let her have the divorce. The cooling-off period gives you three months to negotiate terms. If you fight her now, it'll get ugly."

"I don't want a divorce."

The words surprised even me.

Richard stared. "I'm sorry?"

"I don't..." I stood, pacing to the window overlooking Manhattan. "This marriage works. It's stable. Beneficial for both families. She's just... emotional right now. She'll change her mind."

"Dominic." Richard's voice was careful. "With all due respect, nothing about what I witnessed last night suggested a woman who was 'emotional.' That was a woman who was done."

My phone buzzed. A text from Isabella:

"Lunch today? We have so much to catch up on"

I stared at it, something uncomfortable twisting in my chest.

Delete it, I typed back. I'm busy.

Another text came immediately: "Dinner then? I've missed you, Dom."

I shoved the phone in my drawer.

"Do whatever you need to do," I told Richard. "Negotiate the terms. But I'm not signing until I talk to her."

"She served you at a gala in front of 500 people. I don't think she wants to talk."

"I don't care what she wants right now." I grabbed my jacket. "She's still my wife. She doesn't get to just leave."

Richard sighed. "This is a mistake."

"Bill me for the advice."

I left before he could argue further.

The penthouse was empty when I arrived home at noon. I checked every room her bedroom, the library, even the kitchen where I sometimes found her reading in the mornings.

Nothing.

"Mr. Sterling?" One of the housekeepers appeared in the hallway. "Mrs. Sterling left this morning for a doctor's appointment. She hasn't returned."

"Which doctor?"

"I believe Dr. Morrison, sir. Her annual physical."

Right. I'd forgotten about that.

I pulled out my phone and called Sophia's number. It rang four times, then went to voicemail.

"You've reached Sophia. Please leave a message."

"It's me," I said after the beep. "We need to talk. About last night. Come home so we can discuss this rationally."

I hung up and waited.

An hour passed. Then two.

No call back. No text.

Just silence.

SOPHIA'S POV

I stood outside the Sterling building at 5 PM, staring up at the glass and steel tower that bore my husband's family name.

Soon-to-be ex-husband, I corrected myself.

My phone had been buzzing all day voicemails from Dominic, texts from his assistant, even a carefully worded email from his lawyer. All of them demanding I "discuss the situation."

As if there was anything to discuss.

I'd made my decision. The papers were signed. In ninety days, I'd be free.

Except now there was a complication.

A tiny, eight-week-old complication currently growing inside me.

I pressed a hand to my still-flat stomach, my mind racing through impossible options.

I could tell him. It was his child, after all. He deserved to know.

But the thought of being tied to Dominic Sterling for the rest of my life, of co-parenting with a man who couldn't even remember my favorite color, made me want to scream.

Or I could disappear. Take the divorce settlement, change my name, start over somewhere he'd never find me.

Raise this baby alone, the way I'd been alone for three years.

My phone buzzed again. Dominic. Again.

I declined the call and blocked his number.

Then I opened my contacts and scrolled to a name I hadn't called in months: Claire Montgomery - Sister.

She answered on the second ring. "Soph? Oh my God, is everything okay? I saw the photos from last night"

"Claire," I interrupted, my voice surprisingly steady. "I need your help."

"Anything. What's wrong?"

I took a deep breath. "How fast can you get to New York?"

"I can be on a plane in two hours. Sophia, you're scaring me. What happened?"

I closed my eyes. "I'm leaving him. And I need to disappear before he realizes I'm gone."

A pause. Then: "I'll be there tonight. Pack everything you can't live without."

"Thank you," I whispered.

"That's what sisters are for. Now tell me are you safe?"

I looked up at the Sterling building one last time, at the empire built on cold calculation and loveless contracts.

"I will be," I said. "Soon."

Sophia is pregnant and planning to disappear before Dominic discovers the truth. But with only 90 days until the divorce is final, can she really vanish without him finding her? And what will happen when he realizes she's gone?