From Abandoned Wife To Billionaire Boss

I’ve been married to Miles Grant for three years, and we’ve always treated each other with polite respect.

Everyone says I have a good husband. I used to think so too.

Until the day I saw him with his arm around another woman, walking into the obstetrics and gynecology department.

Between their easy laughter, I heard her call him something intimate—“the baby’s father.”

…

Kira Vance had broken her leg and was lying in a hospital bed, loudly demanding my cooking.

For the sake of our ten years of friendship, I used my lunch break to drive over and bring her food.

I’ve never had a good sense of direction, so I wandered around the hospital with the insulated bag in hand and still couldn’t find the room number Kira had given me.

But I did find someone I never expected to see.

My husband, Miles.

I hadn’t even had the chance to call out to him and ask what he was doing there when a playful, girlish voice sounded:

“Miles.”

My footsteps halted.

A woman in a loose white dress jogged toward him, her skirt swaying around her legs.

“Slow down. What if you hurt the baby?” Miles’s words sounded like a mild complaint, but his tone was indulgent and gentle.

Only then did I notice he was holding a few sheets of paper in his hand.

Baby?

What baby?

Even though the truth was practically slapping me in the face, I still clung to a shred of hope.

Maybe… maybe he was just accompanying a pregnant colleague for a checkup.

He’s always been the helpful type, someone who’ll lend a hand to anyone who needs it.

With that thought, my chest eased just a little.

But the woman’s next sentence dropped me straight into an ice-cold abyss.

She slipped her arm through his and said sweetly, “Got it, baby’s daddy. All you ever worry about is the little one in my belly, you don’t care about me at all.”

Miles naturally freed one arm to pull her closer. “You’re talking nonsense. You’re the one I worry about most.”

The two of them walked off together, laughing and chatting, heading toward the direction clearly marked Obstetrics.

They looked every bit like a pair of newlyweds glued to each other, sickeningly sweet.

Too bad the groom was my husband of three years.

My hands trembling, I took out my phone and dialed Miles.

After only two rings, a cold robotic female voice cut in, “The number you have dialed is currently on another call…”

“I’m in a meeting. We’ll talk later.”

A message popped up from Miles on Facebook.

My grip on the phone tightened instinctively. A chill spread across my face before I even realized I’d gone pale.

When I finally pulled myself together, I let a nurse lead me, half in a daze, to Kira’s room.

At the door, I wiped my face with my hands before pushing it open.

She was in the bed farthest inside. As soon as she saw me, she waved big and broad, her usual unrestrained self. “Over here! What took you so long?”

I set the food down by her bed and forced a smile. “You know me. I can get lost in a damn hallway.”

Kira was truly starving. She pulled the lunch box out of the insulated bag and started shoveling food into her mouth, speaking around the bites, “Your cooking is so good. God, I’m so jealous of Miles—he gets to eat this every day.”

At the mention of “Miles,” a fresh stab of pain lanced through my chest.