The Billionaire's Pregnant Wife Returns

Everyone said I was worthless when Timothy Gibson threw the divorce papers at my face.

He didn't even look at me as he packed his bags to accompany Esther Hayes abroad for her recovery.

I begged him in the freezing rain outside the Diamond Estate, but he just sneered.

He told me not to use underhanded tactics to keep him around.

Seven years later, he blocked my car with his Maybach.

He looked at me with that same arrogant superiority.

He demanded I come back, behave myself, and give birth to an heir for his dying grandfather.

He promised I would still be Mrs. Gibson.

Timothy still thought my entire world revolved around him.

He had no idea that I married someone else the exact day after he signed those papers.

I stepped out of the car, my heels clicking on the pavement.

I gently touched my stomach, which wasn't even showing yet.

I smiled at the man who ruined my past.

"Mr. Gibson, I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint you."

"I am having a baby, but it definitely isn't yours."

***

The heavy metal door of the underground parking garage slammed shut behind me. I pressed the button on my key fob. The matte-black Porsche chirped, its headlights flashing briefly in the dim concrete cavern.

I turned toward the elevator.

A shadow detached itself from the concrete pillar ahead.

"You took your time."

The voice was unmistakable. I stopped.

Timothy Gibson stepped into the harsh fluorescent light. He wore a tailored charcoal suit, looking exactly as he had seven years ago—arrogant, immaculate, and entirely convinced the world revolved around him.

"What are you doing here, Timothy?" I asked, keeping my voice flat.

He closed the distance between us in three long strides. Before I could step back, his hand shot out, his fingers clamping down on my wrist like a vise.

"You're coming back with me," he said. It wasn't a request. It was a command, handed down from on high.

I yanked my arm, but his grip held firm. "Let go of me."

"Grandpa Gibson is dying," Timothy stated, his eyes boring into mine. "He wants to see you. He wants things settled."

"Things were settled seven years ago," I shot back.

"Don't be difficult, Naomi. It's a simple arrangement. You return to the country. We remarry. You give the Gibson family an heir, and you get to keep the title of Mrs. Gibson. It's more than you deserve."

His tone dripped with the same repulsive charity he used to offer me.

"A simple arrangement?" I scoffed. "Like the simple arrangement of you throwing the divorce papers in my face while Esther waited in the car?"

Timothy's jaw tightened. "That was the past. This is about the future of the Gibson estate. You should be grateful I'm even giving you this opportunity."

"Grateful?"

I stared at the man who had left me standing in the pouring rain, his signature already drying on the documents that ended our marriage, all because his precious Esther had shed a single tear.

I pulled my arm again, this time putting my whole body into it. My wrist slipped free from his grasp. I took a deliberate step backward, putting distance between us.

"You really think you can just snap your fingers and I'll jump?" I asked.

"I know you, Naomi. You've always wanted this."

"I wanted a husband," I corrected him. "Not a sperm donor who treats me like a breeding mare for his dying grandfather's peace of mind."

Timothy's eyes narrowed. "Watch your mouth. You're still a Vance. Your family could use the Gibson connection right now."

"My family is doing just fine without you."

"Are you really going to throw away the Gibson fortune out of spite?" he demanded, his voice rising, echoing off the concrete walls.

I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I let my hand drift down. My fingertips rested lightly against my flat stomach.

I looked up at him, a cold smile forming on my lips.

"You're too late, Timothy."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm already pregnant."

Silence sealed the garage. I watched the realization hit him, watched the arrogant certainty crumble from his features.

"You're lying," he snapped.

"Am I?" I kept my hand on my stomach, my smile widening. "I guess you'll just have to find someone else to provide your precious heir."

His face drained of color, then flushed a dark, angry red.

"Who is it?" he demanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "Who's the father?"

"That is none of your business."

"You're my wife—"

"I was your wife," I interrupted. "Seven years ago. Before you threw me away for Esther."

"I am offering you everything!" he yelled.

"And I'm telling you I don't want it. I wouldn't have your child if you were the last man on earth."

Timothy's hands clenched into fists at his sides. The veins in his neck stood out.

"You think you can play games with me?" he snarled.

He lunged forward, his hand shooting out toward the collar of my silk blouse.