The Bilionaire Forgotten Wife; Pregnant With His Son

The eviction notice was pink. Pastel pink. Soft enough to look polite. Like it was sorry for destroying her life. 72 HOURS TO VACATE OR LEGAL ACTION WILL BE TAKEN. Wren crumpled it in her fist. Three months pregnant. No rent. No job that mattered. No time. Her phone buzzed. “Wren, honey,” her mother’s voice came through thin and fragile. Chemo had turned it into something almost disappearing. “They said the hospital… if we don’t pay by Friday—” Friday. Same as the eviction. Wren closed her eyes, leaning against the cold brick wall outside Vale Corp. Above her, the building rose like a threat made of glass. Eighty floors. Power stacked on power. Lucien Vale’s world. The man she hadn’t seen in three months. The man who didn’t remember her. The father of the child she wasn’t ready to name even in her head. She pressed a hand briefly to her stomach. “Just hold on,” she whispered. A security voice cut through the air. “You can’t loiter here.” Wren straightened quickly. “I’m not loitering.” The guard didn’t look convinced. “I’m here to sell a painting,” she said, pulling the canvas from her duffel bag. The skyline at 3 a.m. Blues. Loneliness. Survival. The guard barely glanced at it. “Mr. Vale doesn’t buy from the sidewalk.” That name landed heavier than it should have. Lucien Vale. Three months ago, he’d been just Lucien. A man who laughed too easily at dinner. Who paid for wine she couldn’t afford. Who said, You see people differently, Wren Ward. Then a hotel room. A night she didn’t regret and couldn’t undo. And then—nothing. Because after that night, the world broke. The crash. The headlines. BILLIONAIRE CEO LUCIEN VALE CRITICAL AFTER CAR CRASH. Then Vivian Vale’s grip on her wrist at the hospital. Stay away from him. And later, colder: He doesn’t remember anything from before the crash. Wren hadn’t believed it until she tried to see him. Once. Twice. Security had made sure she never reached him again. Now here she was again. “Please,” she said. “Just one person. Inside. I’ll leave.” The guard hesitated. Five minutes later, she was inside. The Vale Corp lobby swallowed her whole. Marble floors. Silent wealth. Air that felt expensive. Her sneakers squeaked. People looked through her like she didn’t exist. Then— The elevator doors opened. And Lucien Vale stepped out. Everything in her body stopped. He was sharper than memory. Taller. Colder. Black suit like it was built into him. Ice-blue eyes scanning a world that obeyed him. He was speaking to two executives. He didn’t see her. Wren’s hand drifted to her stomach again, instinctively. “That’s your daddy,” she whispered under her breath. Lucien laughed at something one of them said. That sound. It punched straight through her. Three months ago, that laugh had been inches from her skin. “Say my name, Wren.” Her breath caught. Lucien turned. Not toward her at first—just slightly. Like something had brushed against his attention. Then his eyes landed on her. The world didn’t explode. It went still. Wren stepped forward before she could stop herself. “Lucien…” The name slipped out before she could think. And there was nothing. No flicker of recognition. Just a calm, polite emptiness. “Can I help you?” he asked. As if she were a stranger blocking his path. Wren forced herself to breathe. She lifted the canvas. “I paint. I thought maybe Vale Corp—lobby pieces—” He didn’t look at it. His eyes moved over her instead. Hoodie. Cheap bag. Shaking hands. “We don’t buy from unaffiliated vendors,” he said. Then he turned away. Something inside her snapped. “Wait!” The word echoed too loud in the lobby. Heads turned. Security shifted. Lucien paused. Slowly, he looked back over his shoulder. “Yes?” Wren’s stomach tightened. A sharp pain curled through her. Her hand went to it instinctively. Lucien noticed. For a fraction of a second, something changed in his face. Not recognition. Something else. Disruption. Like a memory trying—and failing—to exist. A flash. Laughter. Warm skin. Charcoal-stained fingers. And it gone as quickly as it came. His expression reset. “Security,” he said calmly, “remove her.” Panic hit her hard. Friday. Hospital. Eviction. She couldn’t lose this. “You owe me!” she blurted. There was silence. The entire lobby froze. Lucien turned fully now. Slowly. “I beg your pardon?” Her heartbeat thundered. Tell him the truth. The night. The baby. Everything. But Vivian’s warning sliced through her memory: He will destroy anything that looks like manipulation. So she lied. “You spilled coffee on me three months ago,” she said quickly. “You said you’d reimburse me. $500.” A beat. Then another. One of the executives coughed like he was trying not to laugh. Lucien stared at her. Then— He pulled out a checkbook. Wrote without looking away. Ripped the check out. Held it out. Wren’s breath stopped. $500,000. Her throat went dry. “Take it,” he said. His voice was ice. “And don’t come back.” She didn’t move. That wasn’t help. That was erasure. “I don’t want money,” she said quietly. That made him pause. For the first time, something shifted in his expression. “A job,” she added quickly. “Anything. I just need work.” Lucien studied her. Longer this time. Like she had become a problem he hadn’t categorized yet. “My legal team,” he said finally, “requires a wife.” The words didn’t fit the air. Wren blinked. “A what?” “A contract wife,” he corrected smoothly. He stepped closer. Too close. The scent of him hit her like memory. Her knees nearly betrayed her. “Three months,” he continued. “Public appearances. No intimacy. Full NDA. Five million dollars. Health coverage for you and one dependent.” Her breath caught. “One dependent?” she repeated. His gaze flicked—briefly—to her midsection. Then away. “Contract ends. You walk away with compensation and housing.” The world tilted. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. A legal assistant approached immediately with a folder. Prepared. Ready. Efficient. Lucien took it and held it out to her. “Page twelve,” he said. “Sign if you accept.” Wren looked down. The contract blurred for a moment. Five million dollars. Her mother’s treatment. Her rent. Survival. Then one line below it: Status: Wife. Her fingers tightened. She looked up at him. The man who didn’t remember her. The man she had once held onto like a secret. “Why me?” she asked. A pause. Something almost imperceptible crossed his face. Then it vanished. “You are available, are you not?” he said simply. That should have hurt more than it did. Her hand moved slowly to her stomach again. A decision forming. A life balancing on it. Then she signed. Lucien took the contract without expression. “Welcome to employment,” he said. But as Wren handed back the pen, she didn’t see the satisfaction she expected. Just something unreadable in his eyes. Like he had just made a decision he didn’t fully understand. And for the first time— Lucien Vale looked unsettled.