Divorced Wife's Secret Twins: Billionaire's Regret

Aubree's fingers shook so violently that the crisp edges of the ultrasound paper sliced the pad of her index finger.

She didn't feel the sting. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, bruising rhythm. She shoved the paper-the one clearly stamped with the words Twin Gestation-deep into the hidden lining of her cheap canvas tote bag.

The electronic lock on the heavy oak door emitted a sharp, ice-cold beep.

The door of the Manhattan penthouse was shoved open. A bitter gust of late autumn wind swept into the entryway, carrying the scent of rain and expensive cologne.

Ell Steele stepped inside. His dark gray bespoke suit clung to his broad shoulders, making his sharp, unforgiving jawline look even more brutal. His eyes, dark and heavy with authority, pinned her to the spot.

Aubree's stomach twisted. Out of pure, pathetic habit, she forced a welcoming smile and stepped forward, reaching out to take his damp suit jacket.

Ell shifted his weight, dodging her hands with a look of pure disgust.

Mr. Vance, Ell's gold-tier corporate lawyer, stepped out from behind him. The man marched straight to the black marble kitchen island and slammed two thick stacks of legal documents onto the surface. The loud smack echoed off the high ceilings.

Aubree's gaze dropped to the top page.

Pregnancy Termination Consent Form.

The bold black letters punched the air out of her lungs. The blood in her veins turned to ice.

Ell yanked at his silk tie, loosening it with a harsh tug. He towered over her, his voice devoid of a single ounce of human warmth.

"You stopped taking the pills on purpose. Did you really think you could use a parasite to extort a share of the Steele family trust?"

"No," Aubree choked out, shaking her head frantically. "Ell, it was an accident. I swear-"

Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she dug her nails into her palms, refusing to let them fall.

Ell let out a low, scraping laugh. He lunged forward, his large hand clamping around her jaw. His grip was a vise, forcing her to look up into eyes that held nothing but absolute loathing.

"A nobody like you," he spat, the words hitting her face like physical blows. "You aren't even fit to carry Georgina's shoes. What makes you think you are fit to carry my heir?"

Georgina.

The name ripped through Aubree's chest like a serrated blade. The last flicker of hope in her eyes died, replaced by a hollow, agonizing ache.

Mr. Vance stepped forward, holding out a heavy Montblanc pen. His voice was entirely mechanical. "Sign the medical consent form and the non-disclosure divorce agreement, Ms. Daniels. You will receive a compensation check for five million dollars."

A violent wave of nausea crashed into Aubree's stomach.

She shoved Ell's chest with both hands, breaking his grip. She stumbled backward, slapping a hand over her mouth as her stomach violently contracted. She swallowed down the bile, her throat burning.

Ell watched her heave. His upper lip curled in a sneer. "Save the acting. It won't get you a higher payout."

Aubree sucked in a ragged breath of air. She forced her spine straight, her muscles trembling under the effort. She stared at the termination paper.

She made her choice.

She snatched the pen from Vance's hand. Without a single second of hesitation, she flipped to the signature page of the divorce NDA and signed her name. She pressed down so hard the gold nib tore through the thick parchment.

Ell's eyes widened a fraction. His brow furrowed in sudden, jarring confusion.

Aubree grabbed the unsigned abortion consent form and the five-million-dollar check. She threw them directly at Mr. Vance's chest. The papers fluttered to the floor like dead leaves.

She met Ell's shocked stare. Her voice was raw, scraped hollow by the acid in her throat, but it did not shake.

"I will roll out of your life exactly as you wish. But I will handle the baby myself. Keep your filthy money."

Ell's jaw clenched. The veins in his neck bulged. He closed the distance between them in one stride and grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging into her fragile bones.

"What kind of game are you playing?" he snarled.

Aubree gasped at the sharp pain, but she didn't pull away. She tilted her chin up, a cold, mocking smile touching her pale lips.

"You're a coward who can't even let go of a dead woman. You don't deserve to be a father."

The words hit his deepest, rawest nerve.

Ell's face darkened to a thunderous storm. He violently shoved her arm away.

Aubree lost her footing. She fell backward, her lower back slamming hard against the sharp edge of the marble island.

A blinding flash of pain shot through her spine. She gasped, her hands instinctively flying to cover her flat stomach, curling her body inward to absorb the shock.

Ell didn't even blink. He stood over her, his voice a lethal whisper.

"Pack your trash and get out of my apartment tonight. And tomorrow at the office, do not cross the line."

He turned on his heel and walked out. The heavy front door slammed shut behind him, the force of it making the crystal chandelier above vibrate.

The silence in the apartment was deafening.

Aubree's knees gave out. She slid down the cold marble cabinets, collapsing onto the hardwood floor. The tears finally broke free, hot and silent, tracking down her cheeks.

Her trembling hands reached into her bag. She pulled out the crumpled ultrasound paper. She buried her face in her knees, wrapping her arms tightly around her stomach.

I will protect you both. I swear it.

Her phone screen lit up on the floor. A text message from the hospital billing department flashed. It was a massive, six-figure overdue notice for her adoptive mother's ICU life support.

The red numbers burned her retinas.

Aubree wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. The tears stopped. The warmth in her eyes vanished, replaced by a layer of frost.

She couldn't quit the company. She needed the Steele Group's executive health insurance to keep her mother breathing.

She pushed herself off the floor. She picked up her copy of the signed divorce agreement, shoved it into her bag, and walked toward the walk-in closet.

Tomorrow, she would walk into hell.

Aubree sat at her cramped desk in the administrative wing, her skin the color of old chalk.

She typed a thick stack of expense reports into the system, her jaw locked tight as she fought the relentless, rolling nausea in her gut.

A suffocating wave of Chanel No. 5 hit her senses before the footsteps stopped.

Brittany Wolf, the PR Director, stood in front of Aubree's desk. Her red-soled heels clicked sharply on the linoleum.

Brittany slammed a plastic cup of iced Americano down right next to Aubree's keyboard. The dark brown liquid sloshed over the rim, splattering across the freshly printed financial summaries.

Aubree's brow twitched. She didn't say a word. She pulled a tissue from the box and methodically wiped the wet stains off the paper.

Her lack of reaction made Brittany's face flush with irritation.

Brittany raised her voice, making sure the entire open-plan office could hear. "Are you entirely useless, Aubree? You can't even get a simple medium-roast right?"

Heads popped up over cubicle walls. No one spoke. No one was going to defend a bottom-tier assistant against the PR Director who was currently sleeping with the CEO.

Aubree stood up slowly. Her legs felt heavy. "Fetching coffee is not in my job description. And I am currently processing the urgent financial reports for the President's office."

Brittany's eyes narrowed. She lunged forward and snatched the damp reports right out of Aubree's hands.

"Don't use the President's office to threaten me, you little rat," Brittany mocked.

She leaned in close, intentionally tilting her neck. A dark, purplish bruise sat right above her collarbone.

"Ell was a little too rough in the penthouse last night," Brittany whispered loudly. "He gets so demanding."

Aubree stared at the fake hickey. She had been in that penthouse last night. She knew exactly what Ell had been doing.

The sheer absurdity, combined with the overpowering perfume, triggered a violent spasm in Aubree's stomach.

Her face turned a sickly green. She clamped both hands over her mouth, shoved Brittany hard in the shoulder, and sprinted toward the restrooms.

Brittany stumbled backward, her heels catching on the carpet. She barely caught herself on a desk.

"You uneducated psycho!" Brittany shrieked at Aubree's retreating back.

The silver doors of the private executive elevator slid open.

Ell stepped out, surrounded by a flock of senior managers. His cold eyes landed exactly on the scene: Aubree shoving Brittany out of the way.

Brittany spotted him instantly. Her angry face melted into a mask of pure, trembling victimhood. She rushed over to Ell, her eyes welling with fake tears.

"Ell," she whimpered, touching his arm. "Your assistant just attacked me for no reason."

Ell didn't look at Brittany. His gaze shot down the hall toward the restroom doors. His jaw ticked. He was absolutely certain Aubree was throwing a jealous tantrum over last night's divorce papers.

Inside the restroom, Aubree gripped the edges of the porcelain sink. She dry-heaved violently, her knuckles turning white. Her throat burned with stomach acid. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

She turned on the cold water and splashed it ruthlessly against her face. The freezing temperature shocked her system back to reality.

She stared at her pale, hollow reflection in the mirror. You cannot fall apart here.

The restroom door swung open. The HR Director walked in, her eyes immediately dropping to Aubree's slightly hunched posture and the hands resting near her stomach.

Aubree's pulse spiked. She quickly reached into her pocket and pulled out a small plastic bottle of antacids.

"Severe stomach ulcer," Aubree lied, forcing a weak, self-deprecating smile. "The stress is killing me."

The HR Director's suspicious gaze lingered for a second before turning entirely apathetic.

"The President's office just issued a directive," the HR Director said flatly. "They are furious about those delayed financial reports. Don't tell me you let a spilled coffee ruin your entire workflow. Because of your gross negligence, your performance rating for this quarter has been downgraded to an F."

Aubree's fingernails dug into her palms so hard the skin almost broke.

An F rating meant zero bonus. It meant she was one step away from losing her medical insurance.

When Aubree walked back to the administrative floor, half of her desk was empty. Her files, her computer monitor, her project folders-all gone.

Brittany leaned against the glass wall of the President's suite, sipping the iced Americano. She offered Aubree a slow, victorious smirk.

The intercom on Aubree's desk buzzed. Mr. Vance's robotic voice filled the air.

"Ms. Daniels. Report to the sub-basement archive room immediately. You are reassigned to sort the decade-old voided contracts."

It was a corporate execution. The surrounding coworkers whispered, looking at her like she was a walking corpse.

Aubree didn't argue. She pulled a cardboard box from under her desk and swept her few remaining pens and a mug into it. Her movements were sharp, efficient, and entirely devoid of emotion.

She carried the box toward the freight elevator.

As she passed the President's suite, she glanced through the gaps in the blinds. Ell was sitting at his massive mahogany desk, signing a document. He didn't even lift his head.

Aubree looked away. A cold, dead smile touched her lips.

She pressed the down button. The heavy metal doors of the freight elevator closed, sealing her in.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She pulled it out. It was a burner phone. An encrypted message flashed on the black screen, sent from a server in Europe.

The package from Geneva has been intercepted. Initiate protocol B.

Aubree stared at the glowing text. The exhaustion in her eyes vanished, replaced by a razor-sharp, predatory gleam.

Her thumbs flew across the keyboard.

Proceed as planned.

The next day.

The air in the executive boardroom was freezing, heavily air-conditioned to keep the executives awake.

Aubree, forced into duty because the catering staff was short-handed, carried a massive, silver tray loaded with black coffees. The weight of the porcelain strained her wrists.

In the center of the dark room, a massive holographic projector hummed. A 3D model of a spectacular diamond necklace slowly rotated in the air.

The Angel's Tears.

Ell sat at the head of the long glass table. His eyes were locked onto the glowing diamonds. The usual ice in his gaze was gone, replaced by a haunting, tragic tenderness. It was the look he only ever reserved for Georgina.

Aubree stepped up to his side and placed his black coffee on the coaster. Seeing that look on his face sent a sharp, physical pang through her chest.

Brittany stood by the projector, holding a laser pointer. She beamed at the board members.

"This is the masterpiece Georgina left behind," Brittany announced proudly. "We have perfectly reconstructed it from her final sketches."

Aubree backed away into the shadows near the heavy oak doors. Out of pure, ingrained professional habit, her eyes scanned the structural blueprint rotating next to the necklace.

Three seconds. That was all it took.

Her eyes caught the fatal flaw. The stress points on the platinum prongs holding the fifty-carat center stone were entirely miscalculated.

Brittany's voice echoed in the room. "This piece will be the grand finale at next week's charity gala. It will solidify the Steele Group's dominance in the luxury sector."

Aubree stared at the C-section clasp on the hologram. If someone wore that necklace for more than two hours, the body heat and movement would snap the metal. It wasn't a masterpiece. It was a ticking time bomb.

The executives around the table broke into loud, sycophantic applause.

Aubree couldn't stomach the insult to the art of jewelry making. A short, sharp scoff escaped her lips.

In the quiet boardroom, the sound was like a gunshot.

The applause died instantly. Twenty pairs of eyes snapped toward the dark corner where she stood.

Ell's head turned. The tenderness in his face vanished, replaced by a layer of frost so thick it was suffocating. His dark eyes locked onto her pale face like targeting lasers.

Brittany seized the moment. She pointed a manicured finger at Aubree. "How dare you? A coffee-fetching assistant laughing at Georgina's life's work?"

The room grew heavy with pressure. Aubree didn't shrink back. She straightened her spine and stepped out of the shadows.

"That connection looks way too thin," Aubree stated, her voice calm but laced with genuine concern.

She pointed at the hologram. "If you hang such a massive stone on that tiny clasp, won't it just snap under the weight? It doesn't look secure at all."

Dead silence filled the room. The head of the engineering department frowned, looking back at the hologram, suddenly unsure. Even phrased as a layman's question, her observation hit a glaring visual vulnerability.

Bang!

Ell slammed his open palm onto the glass table. The violent sound made everyone jump.

He stood up. His massive frame radiated pure, unadulterated rage. He walked slowly around the table, backing Aubree up until her shoulders hit the wall.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Ell's voice was a low, lethal growl. "You think you have the right to evaluate Georgina's design?"

Aubree tilted her head up, refusing to break eye contact. "Physics don't change just because the designer is dead."

The air in the room seemed to combust.

Ell's face twisted with disgust. He leaned in, his breath hitting her face. "Your jealousy is sickening. You are a vile, manipulative woman who can't stand that she will always be better than you."

Brittany chimed in from the front. "Ell, she might be a corporate spy trying to ruin the gala."

Ell didn't even look at Brittany. He kept his eyes on Aubree. "Revoke her access to the main building. Throw her in the sub-basement archives. Now."

Two heavy-set security guards stepped forward immediately. They grabbed Aubree by the upper arms, their grips bruising her skin.

They yanked her toward the door.

Aubree struggled to keep her footing. As they dragged her through the doorway, her hip and lower abdomen slammed hard into the heavy metal doorframe.

A sharp, tearing pain ripped through her stomach.

She let out a muffled groan, her face draining of all color. She doubled over slightly, her breath hitching.

Ell watched her suffer. His eyes were flat, devoid of a single ounce of mercy.

"Throw her down the stairs if you have to," he ordered the guards.

The heavy boardroom doors slammed shut in her face, cutting off the light.

Aubree leaned heavily against the cold corridor wall. She wrapped both arms around her stomach, panting heavily. Cold sweat soaked through the back of her cheap blouse.

She looked back at the closed doors. The pain in her body faded, replaced by a cold, calculating numbness.

The last shred of her heart had just frozen over.