After My Husband Betrayed, I Claimed by the Billionaire

"Eight weeks pregnant, Mrs. Miller," the doctor had said just twenty minutes ago.

I clutched the lab report in my hand, practically floating down the hospital corridor. My husband, Ethan, had wanted a child for three years. Today was the day I finally gave him the good news.

I turned the corner toward the pharmacy to pick up my prenatal vitamins.

A familiar laugh cut through the clinical hum of the hallway.

I stopped walking.

"Careful, babe. The doctor said no sudden movements."

That voice. Ethan.

I stepped out from behind a row of vending machines.

Ethan stood ten feet away. His arm was wrapped protectively around a woman's waist.

Not just any woman.

Chloe. My best friend since college.

She wore a tight floral maternity dress, her hand resting over a very obvious, rounded belly.

"I'm fine, Ethan," Chloe giggled, leaning into his chest. "Our little guy is just kicking."

Our little guy.

The paper in my hand crumpled.

"Ethan?" My voice cracked, barely a whisper, but it sliced through the space between us.

His head snapped up. The color drained from his face.

"Sophia." He dropped his hand from Chloe’s waist, taking a half-step back.

Chloe spun around. She didn't look pale. She looked annoyed.

"What are you doing here?" Ethan demanded, his tone defensive instead of apologetic.

"What am I doing here?" I marched toward them, my vision narrowing to the space between my husband and my best friend. "I'm at a hospital, Ethan. Why is your hand on her stomach?"

Chloe smirked, patting her bump. "Five months, Soph. We were going to tell you."

"Tell me what?" My chest tightened. I looked at Ethan. "Tell me what, Ethan?!"

"Keep your voice down," he hissed, glancing at the passing nurses. "People are staring."

"Let them stare!" I shoved his shoulder. "Is that your child?"

Ethan squared his jaw. "Yes."

The single word hit me like a physical blow.

"How long?" I asked.

Chloe stepped forward, linking her arm back through his. "Two years. We tried to stop, but we just love each other too much."

"Two years?" I stared at the woman I had called my sister. "You were my maid of honor, Chloe. You spent Thanksgiving at our house."

"And Ethan spent the nights you were in Chicago in my bed," she replied, not a shred of remorse in her tone.

"Shut up, Chloe," Ethan muttered, though he pulled her closer.

"Why should I?" Chloe challenged. "She needs to know. I'm tired of hiding, Ethan. I'm tired of pretending I don't love you."

"You're sick," I whispered, my stomach churning. I looked at Ethan. "And you. You let me plan a nursery. You let me pick out names last month!"

"That was before I knew Chloe was pregnant!" Ethan fired back. "Things changed, Sophia. I was going to file for divorce after the holidays."

"The holidays?" I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "How generous of you."

My fingers trembled as I raised the crumpled hospital report.

"You wanted a family," I choked out, the tears finally spilling over. "You begged me to do the IVF treatments."

"I wanted a family with someone who actually had time for me," Ethan shot back. His eyes were cold, devoid of the man I married.

I shoved the paper against his chest. "Read it."

He didn't move.

"Read it!" I screamed.

Ethan snatched the paper, his eyes scanning the bold black text. His jaw flexed.

"Eight weeks," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I came here to surprise you. To tell you we were finally having a baby."

For a split second, a flash of guilt crossed his face. He stared at the paper, his mouth opening slightly.

"Ethan?" Chloe asked, her voice sharp.

She snatched the paper from his grip. She glanced at the sonogram picture and scoffed.

"How convenient," she sneered, tearing the paper in half and dropping it on the linoleum floor. "You find out Ethan is leaving you, so you suddenly fake a pregnancy?"

"He didn't even know, you bitch!" I lunged forward, raising my hand.

Ethan caught my wrist mid-air. His grip was a vice.

"Don't you dare touch her," he growled.

"She tore up my ultrasound!" I yanked my arm back, but he held tight.

"It's just a clump of cells, Sophia," Ethan said flatly. "Chloe is carrying my son. He's halfway here. My priority is them."

The cruelty in his words paralyzed me.

"A clump of cells?" I repeated, my voice dropping to a deadened whisper. "This is your child."

"My child is right here," he said, placing a hand on Chloe's belly.

Chloe watched my devastation with a triumphant gleam in her eyes. But as a pair of doctors walked out of the nearby elevator, her expression shifted.

Her face twisted in sudden panic.

"Sophia, please!" Chloe cried out, her voice echoing down the hall. "I'm sorry we fell in love! Please don't hurt my baby!"

Before I could even process her words, Chloe threw herself backward. She landed on the floor with a loud thud, clutching her stomach.

"Ah! Ethan, it hurts!" she wailed, tears streaming down her face.

"Chloe!" Ethan dropped my wrist and dropped to his knees beside her.

"I didn't even touch her!" I yelled, staring at the spectacle.

Ethan glared up at me, his eyes burning with pure hatred.

"You're out of your mind," he spat.

He stood up, his towering frame casting a shadow over me.

"Ethan, I swear to God, she threw herself down—"

"Shut up!"

He shoved me. Hard.

His hands slammed into my shoulders with enough force to lift me off my feet.

I flew backward.

My lower back crashed into the sharp edge of the metal handrail lining the corridor. A sickening crunch echoed in my ears.

A blinding, white-hot agony tore through my abdomen.

I crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. The pain was unlike anything I had ever felt. It felt like my insides were being ripped apart.

"Ethan," I whimpered, curling into a ball.

He didn't look at me. He was busy lifting Chloe into his arms.

"Someone get a doctor!" Ethan yelled. "My girlfriend is hurt!"

I reached out a trembling hand toward his retreating back. "Ethan... please. The baby."

A warm, wet sensation spread between my thighs.

I looked down.

Dark red blood soaked through my light-colored jeans, pooling on the pristine white tiles.

My baby. My eight-week-old baby.

"Help," I rasped, but my voice was too weak.

The corridor spun. Faces blurred together. People were shouting, running, but the sounds were muffled, like I was underwater.

My eyelids grew incredibly heavy. The pain in my stomach radiated outward, numbing my limbs.

Through the chaotic swarm of nurses and bystanders, the crowd suddenly parted.

A man sprinted toward me.

Tall. Broad shoulders. A sharp jawline tight with panic.

Damien.

My boss. The cold, untouchable CEO of Reed Enterprises. What was he doing here?

He slid to his knees beside me, his expensive suit soaking up my blood.

"Sophia!" His voice was raw, frantic. He grabbed my shoulders, his dark eyes wide with terror. "Stay with me. Do you hear me? Stay awake!"

I tried to speak, but only a choked sob escaped my lips.

Damien scooped me into his arms, holding me tightly against his chest.

"I've got you," he swore, his voice trembling. "I've got you."

The world went pitch black.