Heartbreak Billionaire: He Should Never Have Let Go

In a dimly lit bedroom at Crest Villa, Crobert.

After their intimate encounter, Brandon Watson brushed his lips against the small mole on Millie Bennett's chest softly, and then sat up.

He said in a detached voice, "Let's get a divorce."

Millie, still breathing hard from the encounter, turned to him slowly, a wild look of disbelief in her eyes.

They had been married for a year. What did he mean by suddenly saying he wanted a divorce?

"She has stomach cancer and has only six months left to live," Brandon said, lighting a cigarette.

The smoke rose in slow spirals around his face.

"Her final wish is to be my wife," he added, almost offhandedly.

Millie gawked at him, stunned. Silence spread across the room like mist.

The bedside lamp glowed faintly, casting long shadows across the wall, making them seem farther apart than they were.

Brandon glanced at her and gave a faint frown.

"It's only to comfort her," he explained. "We'll remarry after six months. She won't be here long, Millie."

His voice was steady, almost detached, like someone passing along a message that didn't concern him.

Millie watched Brandon wordlessly, her eyes fixed on his profile.

He spoke like his words were instructions, not suggestions.

Their relationship had always been one-sided. She had chased it from the start, drawn in by youthful affection.

She had stayed by his side for years, moving through each rough season without letting go.

Millie still remembered that day, under the heavy rain that soaked them both, Brandon had stood between her and her stepfather, gripping a cracked stick, and said with fire in his voice, "Touch Millie again, and you'll regret it."

That moment had etched itself into her heart. Even when she was weak and bleeding, she saw him-unmoving, protective, fierce.

From that point on, she was his.

She loved him without pause, met his requests with everything she had, carrying them out more flawlessly than anyone else ever could.

He would always pat her head, light and warm, and say in a low voice, "You did so well, Millie."

But Brandon's praises never lasted, his kisses barely stayed, and whatever affection they shared always felt just out of reach. But Millie told herself it was just how he was.

Even when others called her naive, she stayed-devoted and trusting.

She had given seven years of her life to him.

A year earlier, Brandon's grandfather, Derek Watson, had fallen into poor health. The family, hoping to lift his spirits, decided Brandon should marry. Perhaps the joy of a wedding would give the old man something to hold on to.

So Brandon went on to marry Millie.

She thought it was finally their moment. But after the vows, something changed. He began to pull away. Sometimes, he looked at her like she was a stranger.

"Millie, are you listening?" Brandon scowled as he caught the far-off look in Millie's eyes.

"Does it have to be like this?" she asked softly.

He didn't answer. Instead, he said, "She's going through so much, Millie."

Millie's chest tightened. "And what about me?"

Brandon didn't answer right away. His eyes, dark and steady, flickered with a trace of impatience.

Then, after about three seconds, he said, "Millie, she's dying. Maybe you don't know, but she's in love with me. Because we were married, and she didn't want to hurt you, she never let things go too far between us. Even when I tried to make it up to her, she never let me. She's a good person. Please, let her have this. Don't make me think you're being heartless."

His words, spoken so calmly, pierced her more than if he had shouted.

So in Brandon's eyes, a woman in love with a married man, who promised to hold back but never really let go, was a saint.

And a wife who simply wanted to keep her husband to herself was heartless.

Millie stared at his face. The same face she had fallen for-intense eyes, prominent nose, beautiful lips.

When had things started to crumble?

Maybe it was the day the woman showed up.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Millie asked, steadying herself.

Brandon said nothing, pursing his lips.

Finally, he opened his mouth to respond. "Yes, you-"

"Alright." Millie cut him off before he could finish.

Brandon looked up, clearly surprised. He frowned, studying her closely.

"Millie, you're getting clever," he said, a flicker of irritation in his voice. "You know I need your consent to go through with it. Are you thinking of using it to get under my skin?"

Millie didn't answer. She just stared at the white wall, watching how their shadows stretched.

Brandon put out his cigarette and said no more, pulling on his clothes quickly and storming out.

He didn't stop to consider how she felt. Nor did he pause to acknowledge how humiliating or painful his request was.

He knew she couldn't leave him.

He was utterly sure about that.

The door slammed shut behind him.

And just like that, Millie was alone.

She sat motionless by the bed, staring at the door as if it might open again.

Her phone buzzed beside her.

A message lit up the screen.

She picked up the phone.

It was from a familiar number. "He came to see me again."

The text came with a photo. Brandon's face was captured in the reflection of a glass door, a soft smile playing on his lips, eyes warm in a way Millie had never seen.

She froze. Then, slowly, she scrolled upward through the previous messages. "He said he has feelings for me."

"Rainy nights aren't lonely for me because he's here with me. What about you?"

"The one who isn't loved is truly the other woman. Millie, you were never his first choice; you were just the one he settled for. He sees beauty the way I do, shares my taste in things, and he loves me."

The messages continued that way, proving Brandon's betrayal.

The man who had always treated her with distance these past seven years had apparently mastered tenderness for someone else.

Millie kept scrolling until she reached the very first message. "You should know who I am. Do you like the flowers in your living room today? I sent them. He said they were beautiful."

Of course, Millie knew who it was.

Vivian Simpson, the famous floral designer known for filling her wealthy clients' grand villas and lavish parties with carefully and beautifully arranged blooms.

Millie had shown Brandon the messages before. He'd brushed them off and said there was no proof they were from Vivian.

He had even said maybe Millie sent them herself just to stir trouble. Most of the messages didn't have pictures, and the few that did were vague-taken from afar, hard to pin down.

But not today's. Today's was clear.

Millie thought about showing him the photo. Then her eyes drifted toward the bedside drawer. She reached down and pulled it open.

There it was. The pregnancy test result she'd gotten earlier that day.

She was pregnant with Brandon's child. At the worst possible moment.

Her tears fell, soaking the paper and smudging the ink.

But what did it matter anymore? Brandon's heart had been gone for a long time.

Millie wiped her face dry and picked up the lighter he'd left behind. Flames flickered as she held the test result to the fire.

Brandon had no idea that saying yes to the divorce would be the final thing she'd ever do for him.

She had given him back what she owed-not in money, but in seven full years of her life.

She would never love him again.

The next day, parked just outside the courthouse, Brandon sat in his Maybach, quietly tapping the steering wheel with his left hand.

"Brandon, you and Millie have been married for a year now. Don't you think it's time to start planning for a baby?" An elderly voice drifted from the phone's speaker.

Brandon's face softened, a trace of frustration flickering through, but his patience didn't waver.

"Grandma, we're still young. There's no need to rush. You and Grandpa should focus on staying healthy. He..."

"What do you mean by 'There's no need to rush'?" The elderly voice rose in annoyance. "Your grandfather's condition might have improved, but we're not getting any younger. We don't know how much time we've got left."

"Grandma..."

"Don't give me that! I've heard things, Brandon. Whatever's going on, be good to Millie."

Silence fell over the line for a few seconds.

"Brandon, did you hear me?" the elder asked.

Brandon rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I understand, Grandma."

They exchanged a few more words before he ended the call.

Brandon resumed tapping the steering wheel with his fingers, this time slower, more distracted. He stared through the windshield toward the courthouse.

He clenched his jaw. Then, he opened the messaging app on his phone.

His thumb hovered over a familiar profile picture-a simple floral image, tagged "My Love." He skipped past it and opened the thread with Millie.

The last message he'd sent her simply reminded her of the time and place to meet for the divorce.

She still hadn't shown up.

With a scowl, Brandon sent a new message. "Where are you?"

A knock on the window followed almost instantly. He turned to see Millie standing outside, her face a little pale.

She opened the door and slipped into the passenger seat, giving him a blank look.

He hadn't changed out of yesterday's clothes-the same ones she had picked out for him.

Through the years, it had always been her-choosing his ties, picking his cologne, arranging every detail down to the fit of his tailored shirts and suits.

"Why are you late?" Brandon asked.

Millie looked away.

"I'm not late," she said quietly.

She was simply no longer the girl who would always arrive early and wait for him without thinking.

Brandon's fingers stilled against the wheel. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her.

Millie looked a little pale, maybe from a sleepless night after he mentioned the divorce last night.

Still, she looked fine.

"My grandma called earlier," Brandon muttered, looking away. "Don't tell them about the divorce. They're too old to handle something like that."

Millie didn't respond right away. Instead, she asked, "What did your grandma say?"

"She wants us to have a baby," Brandon said flatly, a flicker of irritation slipping into his voice.

Silence settled in the car.

After a while, Millie let out a small soft laugh.

Brandon curled his hand into a fist and turned his face to the window.

There were moments when he used to imagine what their child might look like.

He remembered holding her from behind, pressing a hand gently over her belly, whispering, "Millie, when will you give me a baby?"

But it hadn't happened.

Anyway, they could always remarry in six months and start planning for a baby. There would still be enough time.

Vivian, however, only had six months left.

Outside, passers-by came and went.

Then Millie spoke up. "Just once more, Brandon. Are you completely sure you want to go through with the divorce?"

"Having second thoughts?" Brandon barked, looking genuinely upset.

Vivian was still waiting for him at the studio.

After confirming once more, Millie didn't say another word. She reached into her bag, pulled out a document, and handed it to Brandon.

He took it with a frown, flipping through the pages. It was a property division agreement.

"If we're getting divorced," she said, "we should make everything clear. I'll only take what I'm entitled to from the Watson family. And from this moment on, anything either of us earns belongs to us individually."

Then Millie pulled out a pen and placed it beside him.

"If that's okay with you, just sign it."

Brandon's eyes stayed on the document, but his frown deepened as he read.

The agreement was too simple. She really wasn't asking for much. And her signature was already there.

He didn't get it.

What was she trying to do? It was basically just a fake divorce.

Vivian only had six months left. He planned to spend those months by her side. After that, he'd return to Millie-no one else needed to know the divorce ever happened.

To him, Millie had always seemed blindly loyal.

Brandon had never thought of her as someone with pride or boundaries.

There was a time he'd grown bored of her, pushing her into things that chipped away at her pride on purpose.

But Millie never declined.

She'd still return with a soft smile, holding out the results like a trophy. "Brandon, look-I did it. Isn't it great?"

She was a good wife. Meek. Obedient. For seven years, he'd seen it play out over and over.

If it weren't for Vivian, their marriage probably would have gone on like that.

But...

A flash of memory-Vivian, weak and coughing blood, still trying to smile-stabbed at his chest. The pain was raw and unshakable.

Brandon looked outside the car window again.

Millie's reflection stared back at him-blank, expressionless.

Was this her way of threatening him?

After all, she had once faked messages to frame Vivian.

She hated Vivian.

Chuckling dryly, Brandon picked up the pen and signed his name.

No one could force his hand. Not even her.

There were two copies of the agreement.

Millie calmly took her copy after he signed both.

They both stepped out of the car and headed into the courthouse. Together, they filed for divorce.

Next time they came back here, they would finalize everything and collect the official decree.

Once all the formalities were done, the two of them stepped out of the courthouse together.

The sun was already blazing, and the warmth settled on Millie's skin.

Brandon scanned the people moving about.

It wasn't hard to tell the couples getting married from those getting divorced. Some people chose to have their weddings at the courthouse.

A couple walked by, hand in hand.

The woman's smile triggered something in Brandon. He remembered that same look on Millie's face a year ago, when they first got married.

Brandon glanced over at Millie, but her face was blank.

"I'll keep transferring money to your account during the next six months," he said. "And don't say anything to my grandparents."

He didn't wait for a reply. Just turned and walked off.

Millie stood there quietly, watching his car disappear around the corner.

Her cab arrived not long after.

And then, the two cars went opposite directions.

One turned toward Vivian Floral Design.

The other headed for Crobert Hospital.

Brandon walked into Vivian's studio, where she greeted him with a gentle smile.

He told her, "It's done. She didn't make a scene."

Meanwhile, Millie stepped into the ob-gyn wing and quietly sat opposite the doctor.

The doctor reached over and pulled the curtain.

"Millie... are you sure you want to terminate the pregnancy?" Her best friend and doctor, Alexia Hussain, looked at her with concern. "You were so determined to have a baby. You even worked so hard to get yourself ready for conception..."

Millie reached into her bag and placed the divorce filing receipt on the side table.

"Yes," she replied calmly. "Let's terminate it. I don't want it anymore."

Alexia stared at the filing receipt, surprised.

She and Millie had been close friends for more than ten years, and in all that time, Alexia had seen just how hard Millie loved Brandon.

There was a time Millie could have died for him, and nobody would have questioned it.

They got married a year ago. Alexia had smiled at the wedding, even though something about their pairing felt off. But still, Millie had gotten what she wanted. That had been enough for Alexia.

Now this...

What had happened?

"I don't love him anymore," Millie said, before Alexia could ask.

She looked over and gave a small, calm smile.

In that smile, Alexia caught a glimpse of the old Millie-the one from before everything collapsed, before grief carved deep lines into her, before her father's death and the fall of the Bennett family changed her.

It brought Alexia a strange sense of calm.

"Brandon doesn't know I'm pregnant," Millie said calmly. "And before the divorce becomes final, I don't want to take any risks. It's better if he doesn't know."

If either party changed their mind before the divorce was finalized, they could take back the application, and the procedure would no longer go through.

And that was when Alexia knew that Millie wasn't playing around about divorcing Brandon.

After taking it all in, Alexia did what needed to be done: she booked Millie's medical tests and then advised carefully, "Wait a few days before the surgery."

Millie frowned in confusion. "Why?"

"You know your blood type-Rh-negative. It's rare. We need time to prepare blood, just in case. I've already contacted the blood bank. They said it might take a week."

Millie went quiet. The sadness in her eyes was unmistakable.

She had gotten that blood type from her father. And now she missed him all over again.

If he were still here...

"Okay." Millie nodded slowly. A smile tugged at her lips, but her eyes turned red.

"You also have early signs of miscarriage. You need to be careful these next few days," Alexia added, her voice full of concern.

They'd grown up together, and Alexia knew Millie's sadness too well.

She held Millie's hand. "Wait for me. My shift's almost over. I'll go home with you."

Millie nodded, and then went to wait in the hallway.

She looked down at her stomach.

Early signs of miscarriage.

Did the baby know what she'd decided and want to leave first?

Pursing her lips, Millie walked toward the lab for the tests.

Her phone buzzed. It was a bank notification.

She had opened a new account-one that Brandon wouldn't know about. She was keeping her money cleanly separate before the divorce was finalized.

Every cent she earned from now on would live in that account.

A second message followed. "Payment for composition and lyrics has been completed. Finance has sent the transfer. Kindly confirm."

Before she married Brandon, Millie had worked quietly as an anonymous songwriter.

Music had always been her first love. Back when her father was alive, life had been generous, and she lacked nothing. As the Bennett family's only daughter, she had the freedom and the means to grow her gift.

The turns her life had taken had taught her things she hadn't known she needed to learn.

Maybe her father never thought that the pastime he once encouraged would one day be the very thing keeping her afloat.

Millie paused, and then typed back, "Money received. Thank you."

The reply came quickly. "It's what you deserve. You've written a lot of hits over the years. Why don't you return? There's a new show coming up. It fits you perfectly. I've sent details to your email. Reserved a contestant slot just for you."

Millie opened her email. A new message sat at the top, inviting her to join a music competition show. The format was familiar, like others she had seen before, but this one wanted something original.

She typed out a quick reply. "I'll think about it."

Then she set her phone down. A light cramp curled in her lower belly.

She thought of her father again.

The second time today.

...

Meanwhile, the Internet was buzzing with updates.

#VivianSimpsonStomachCancer

#FloristVivianSimpsonCountdown

#LastSixMonths

The most trending post was a video featuring a reporter summarizing the news about Vivian. "Sources confirm that the well-known floral designer, Vivian Simpson, has been diagnosed with stomach cancer. She's been given six months to live. But instead of retreating, she's choosing to document her remaining time-she wants to share her life with the world as it winds down."

The video cut to Vivian. She looked at the camera with a sad smile. "In these last six months, I'll be posting updates about my life. I'm not doing it for attention. I just want to offer some comfort to others going through the same thing. I hope you all stay strong."

Then the reporter came back on screen. "There have long been whispers about Miss Simpson and Mr. Brandon Watson, CEO of Watson Group. But Mr. Watson is married. It remains to be seen if he'll reconnect with Miss Simpson during her final months."

In the background, Vivian seemed to have heard that part. She stepped forward, stopped beside the reporter, and gently cut in.

She faced the camera.

"I'm not ashamed to say I like Brandon. He's an incredible man," she said. "I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels that way. But I want to make it clear-I'm not going to break up someone's marriage. That's not who I am."

Having said that, she walked off, leaving the reporter behind.

She wove through the small crowd with a smile and climbed into a waiting car.

The foreign caregiver from Flaville passed her a glass of water, hand paused in midair, unsure.

"You look like you want to say something," Vivian said, her voice cold. "Go ahead. The driver's one of ours."

The caregiver leaned in and lowered their voice. "Miss Simpson, your diagnosis... it's a stomach ulcer. Having our facility change that into cancer is already risky. But now you're sharing it with the public online?"

Vivian gave a sharp laugh, startling the caregiver.

"Your facility-is it a licensed medical facility?" she asked.

The caregiver nodded.

"And does it manage my medical record privately?"

The caregiver gave another nod.

"Is that what my medical record says-that I have six months left because of terminal stomach cancer?"

The caregiver hesitated before nodding again.

"Exactly!" Vivian leaned back with a smile. "It's official, then. No one can question it."

"But you don't actually have stomach cancer. What happens later..."

"There are two ways out," Vivian said, cutting in. Her voice was sharper now, her eyes harder. "One: I make a miraculous recovery during treatment at your facility or somewhere else, maybe because of all the love I've received. Two: your facility gets blamed for a diagnostic error and months of wrong treatment."

She turned her face fully to the caregiver, looking more intimidating. "Which option do you prefer?"

The caregiver looked panicked but forced out the words. "I'm sorry, Miss Simpson. I understand. You've already thought everything through."

Vivian gave a short, cold smile.

"Where should we go next, Miss Simpson?" the caregiver asked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Vivian glanced at her phone. "Crobert Hospital."

The caregiver stiffened. "But-"

"Relax. I'm only going in for pain relief with my medical record," Vivian said, and then reached for her phone and sent Brandon a message, telling him to meet her at the hospital later.

Almost instantly, he replied, "Sure."

Meanwhile, Millie stood in the hospital restroom, a steady ache pulling at her lower stomach. In her hand was a tissue, the smear of blood clear against the white.

It was an early sign of a miscarriage.