Too Late, Billionaire: Watch Me Leave

The heavy glass doors of the Upper East Side clinic blocked Thea's view, a gust of early winter wind resisting her departure. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her flat stomach, feeling both fear and anticipation. A nurse with a kind but tired smile handed her a sealed manila envelope. A hint of envy flashed in the nurse's eyes, the same envy Thea had seen in the eyes of thousands of other women since marrying Jordan Webb. Thea's fingers trembled as she took the envelope. She found an empty sofa in a quiet corner of the waiting room; the soft velvet couldn't calm the frantic throbbing in her ribs. The envelope's seal was torn open after a slight resistance. She pulled out the paper, the scent of fresh ink filling her senses. Her gaze swept past the medical jargon, settling on two words: positive. Below that were: estimated gestational age: 6 weeks. A sudden, rapid gasp. Her heart didn't race; it contracted, a painful, intense squeezing robbed her lungs of air. A wave of heat washed over her cheeks, blurring the clear black writing. Her phone vibrated in her coat pocket. A message from Paige. How are you? Don't keep me in suspense. Thea swiped her thumb across the screen and typed a word: Pregnant. A genuine, natural smile finally appeared on her lips. Stepping out of the clinic's warmth, a cold rain began to fall in Manhattan. The doorman hurriedly approached with an umbrella, but she waved it off, refusing the bodyguard's outstretched arm, and opened the door of the waiting black sedan herself. The Maybach was silent. She traced the outline of the enormous diamond on her ring finger, a cold, heavy weight that should have symbolized union. Tonight, she would break the rules. Tonight, she would tell Jordan. The car slid into the private garage of their penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue. She took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing heart. She stepped into the private elevator, enveloped by the scent of Jordan's expensive, sterile world. The fingerprint scanner glowed green, and the elevator began to ascend silently and rapidly. The feeling of weightlessness made her stomach churn. The elevator doors slid open, plunging the apartment into darkness. It was a cave filled with shadows and silence, the only light coming from the city lights streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She took off her damp trench coat and carefully hung it up. She walked towards the open kitchen, a sudden idea taking root in her mind. A surprise. She was going to make his favorite—truffle pasta. She took ingredients from the enormous Sub-Zero refrigerator. The knife slicing across the cutting board made a crisp, clean sound that echoed in the silence. Her movements were quick and hopeful. Just as the pasta hit the boiling water, a dull thud echoed from the foyer. The fingerprint lock's electronic beep sounded, followed by a heavy click from the door. Thea immediately turned off the stove, her heart pounding in her chest. She dried her hands with a towel and hurried to the living room. Jordan entered the foyer with a gust of cold air. His tall figure cast a long, imposing shadow across the marble floor. He loosened his silk tie and tossed the expensive fabric onto a seemingly sterile sofa. His brow was furrowed, and his blue eyes held a deep-seated weariness. “Jordan,” she said softly, stepping forward with a glass of water. She was trying to break down the corporate armor he wore even at home. He took the water glass, his fingers brushing against hers. His skin was cold. The brief contact sent a chill down her spine. “Thank you,” he mumbled in a low, hoarse voice. He turned and walked to the wet bar to pour himself a whiskey. This action was like a wall, being built brick by brick between them. Thea bit her lip. Her right hand slid into her pocket, her fingers gripping the folded lab report tightly. She took a step forward. “I have something important to tell you,” she said. In the vast, empty space, her voice sounded weak and trembling. Jordan stopped, pouring the amber liquid halfway into the crystal glass. He turned his head, his gaze fixed on her. Her deep blue eyes were cold yet full of expectation. Just as she was about to take the paper out of her pocket, a shrill ring broke the silence. It wasn't his official phone. It was his personal phone. Jordan's expression changed instantly. The fatigue vanished, replaced by a sharp and sudden tension. He abruptly put down his glass and pulled his phone from his pocket. His jaw tightened after just one glance at the screen. He answered the phone without hesitation. A faint, suppressed sob came through the receiver. Jordan's entire demeanor shifted from indifference to a raw and urgent concern she had never seen him show towards her before. “I’m coming right now,” he said into the phone, his voice low and reassuring. He hung up and turned to grab the suit jacket he had just taken off. Thea stood frozen, her hand still outstretched, words stuck in her throat. She watched incredulously as he strode toward the door. "What's wrong? What happened?" she asked, a hint of panic in her voice. She took a step behind him, desperately trying to keep him there and make him listen to her. Jordan stopped at the door and placed his hand on the doorknob. He didn't turn around. “It’s a company emergency,” he said, his tone brief and cold. Before she could react. He slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the silent, empty penthouse.