Hiding The Billionaire's Son After Divorce

Valeria's POV

Divorce papers.

I always knew it would come to this. It's been a slow, agonizing countdown since the day we got married-when he revealed to me that he only married me for revenge because he believed I was responsible for the accident that killed Isis, the woman he loved. He knew just how much I loved him. I had always loved him, but that didn't stop him from telling me just how much he hated me. He said this marriage was going to be my punishment; his own special brand of hell.

And then he threw me outside.

In the middle of the night. Still wearing my wedding gown, barefoot, soaked, crying my eyes out on the pavement while the sky wept with me. He walked right past me the next morning like I was a stranger, like I didn't exist, while I lay there shivering on the cold tiles outside the mansion-his mansion. I was nothing more than an unwanted stain on his perfect life.

Now, here we were, full circle. His lawyer had pushed the thick envelope across the mahogany dining table. The very table I had eaten alone at for three years.

I stared at the pages inside. My fingers trembled slightly, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to cry... or celebrate.

I had imagined this moment so many times. I had nightmares about it. I dreaded it, feared it, prayed it would never come. But now that it was here... there was something cathartic about it. Like ripping off a bandage from a festering wound. It hurt like hell-of course it did-but a small part of me felt... relieved. Maybe now the suffering would finally end.

After all, I had only ever been a wife on paper. There was nothing to mourn here. Nothing beautiful to look back on. Nothing real.

"Sign them. I can no longer stand to see your face or pretend like I don't want to strangle you with my bare hands every time I lay eyes on you."

His voice was ice, every word spat with disgust. He slammed his palm on the table, jerking me out of my thoughts.

I blinked up at him, swallowing hard. Luka stood across from me, tall and broad-shouldered in a crisp black shirt rolled at the sleeves, the veins in his forearms taut from tension. His stormy grey eyes were narrowed and his angular jaw was clenched tight.

He was a striking man-beautiful even-with dark, tousled hair that always looked effortlessly styled, a straight nose, and high cheekbones that gave him an almost regal profile. Women fawned over him. He was charming when he wanted to be. But the man standing before me now was nothing but bitter fury dressed in designer clothes.

Should I cry? Beg? Ask for a second chance?

No. What was the point when he had never given me a first chance?

We had been friends since we were kids. Grew up together. Laughed together. I had spent years loving him from the sidelines. And all it took was an anonymous text for him to believe I was a murderer. To turn on me without question. Just a single message-one line blaming me for Isis's accident-and suddenly I was the enemy.

I had been tried, judged, and sentenced to this nightmare of a marriage.

Three long years of silent dinners. Locked doors. Cold stares. No job, no career, no purpose. He wouldn't let me work, destroyed every business I tried to start. Because he needed me dependent. Powerless. That was how he controlled me. How he punished me. He humiliated me, isolated me from everyone I loved, made me miserable all while perfecting the good husband act in public. To the outside world, I was his beloved wife who was very sick and hence could never appear with him in public.

I had hidden it all from my overprotective billionaire father because I loved Luka just that much, so confident in my delusions that he would change. There's no wishing this away now.

I signed the papers.

The scratch of my pen was the only sound in the room.

Luka's lips curled into a twisted smirk as he yanked the documents back. "Good," he sneered. "I want you out of this house by morning. Don't take anything I bought. You'll get no alimony. Not a damn cent from me."

I didn't respond. I barely even heard him.

Because my mind had drifted again, back to the night that had haunted me ever since.

It was just a few weeks ago. Luka had come home so drunk he could barely stand. His company had just reported the biggest profit margin in five years and the investors had insisted on a party. I wasn't allowed to attend, of course. I wasn't even allowed to exist outside this house.

I stayed home like always. I was used to it. Invisible, forgotten, left behind.

That night, I'd been curled up on the couch, watching some random movie and pretending the popcorn didn't taste like ashes. The doorbell rang around midnight. I opened it to see our driver struggling to keep Luka upright.

"He's... had a lot," the driver said apologetically.

"I'll take him," I replied, taking my husband's arm and dismissing the driver.

It was hard getting him upstairs. I'm not even sure how I managed it without tumbling back down the staircase. But I got him onto the bed, eventually.

I was going to leave him there and walk away.

But he grabbed my wrist.

"Don't go," he whispered.

Then he kissed me.

It was... everything I had ever wanted. Everything I had dreamed of. My heart took flight, my skin burned, my soul ignited.

I thought... maybe... maybe he was starting to see me again.

He undressed me and made love to me-or maybe just had sex with me, I don't even know anymore. But I felt alive. I felt seen. I had always wanted my first time to be with him, and for a few minutes, I was flying.

Until he moaned her name.

Isis.

Right there, in the middle of everything, while he was still deep inside me, he said her name.

It was like a knife to the heart. A spike driven straight through my chest.

But I didn't stop him.

I couldn't.

I was weak when it came to Luka. I always had been. I let it happen. I convinced myself it meant something. I tried to believe that maybe, deep down, he still felt something for me.

And now... now I was pregnant.

I'd just come back from the doctor's office. Four weeks along.

I had no idea how to tell him. I'd been dreading it. I knew what he would say. That I was lying. That I cheated. That I was trying to trap him.

He didn't even remember that night. I knew it.

He'd deny everything and force me to get rid of the baby.

But now...

Now I didn't have to tell him. He would never have to know that I was carrying the heir to the Thorne empire in my womb. I ran a hand over my stomach subtly.

Luka took a deep breath and straightened his jacket, his face carved in ice. "Don't contact me. Don't show up. Don't try anything stupid. As far as I'm concerned, you're dead to me."

He turned and stormed off.

And still, I sat there.

Calm.

Too calm, really.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts, dialing my father's assistant.

"Clark?" I said when he picked up.

"Yes, Miss Daelmont?"

"I just got divorced. Please book me a flight to New Zealand and don't tell my dad."

Valeria's POV

The driver Clark sent was already outside by the time I finished dragging my last suitcase down the stairs. Not a word came from Luka's room. Not a single sound to indicate he even cared that I was leaving. No goodbyes. No apologies. Not even a glance.

The driver was a quiet man, polite enough to offer help, but I declined. There was something about packing up my own things that made it feel more final-more mine. He loaded all five of my suitcases and the carry-on into the trunk while I stood outside the massive gates of the mansion that had been my prison for the past three years.

I wasn't ready to get in the car yet. My feet remained rooted to the ground as I stared at the house. The towering pillars. The sprawling balcony I was never allowed to use. The garden I wasn't allowed to tend to because Luka said it made the gardener uncomfortable. Every inch of it looked like paradise from the outside, but I knew better now.

It was a cage.

Still, some pathetic part of me waited.

I waited for him.

I don't even know why. Maybe I hoped he would come storming out with wild eyes, yelling that it was all a mistake, that he couldn't let me go. Or maybe he'd say the divorce had been a test and he'd failed. Maybe he'd beg me to stay.

But deep down, I knew better.

Luka wasn't coming.

There would be no last-minute redemption. No fairytale ending. He hated me. That much had always been clear.

I took one last look at the mansion before sliding into the backseat. The door shut quietly behind me, and the driver pulled away.

As the house faded behind us, I leaned against the window, watching the golden gates disappear into the distance like the final scene in a movie.

I was free now. Free from his accusations. From his constant hatred. From the manipulation. From the mind games. From the icy silence that filled that house more than air ever did.

But the thing about being caged for so long was... freedom felt foreign. Almost wrong.

I should be happy. I should feel a rush of relief, like I could finally breathe again. But all I felt was... hollow. Numb.

Maybe it would take time to process. Maybe the emotions would hit me later, like a tidal wave crashing in slow motion. I didn't know. But I knew one thing for sure-as long as I had my child, I would be just fine.

***

I first met Luka when I was five years old. He was seven, taller than me, quieter than me. Our fathers were business partners, and our mothers-well, at least back then-still had enough warmth in them to arrange weekend barbecues and family holidays.

We spent summers together, winters too. He was always around. Always there.

I don't remember when exactly it changed-when his presence stopped being comforting and started meaning everything-but I do remember being sixteen and watching him help me off a horse during one of our family's equestrian retreats, and how my heart beat like a drum in my chest the moment our hands touched.

Somewhere along the line, what I felt for him morphed from innocent affection to head-spinning infatuation. I started dreaming of our wedding. Not just the dress and the flowers, but the vows. His smile. The life we'd build.

I thought it was mutual. How could it not be? We'd been close all our lives.

But everything shattered the day he introduced Isis.

His girlfriend.

I remember that day like it's scorched into my brain. He brought her to one of my father's corporate luncheons. She was pretty in a soft, delicate sort of way. Brown curls, flawless skin, big brown eyes. She clung to Luka's arm like a leech, and everyone just loved her.

Everyone but me.

At first, I told myself I was just jealous. That was only natural-I'd loved Luka for years, silently, desperately. But the more I watched her, the more something about her rubbed me the wrong way.

She was too perfect.

Too nice. Too charming. She never had a real opinion, always just agreed with whatever the group was saying. It was like she didn't have a personality-just this shiny, polished mask that adapted to whoever she was talking to.

It was sickening.

And no one else seemed to see it.

Especially Luka.

He was enchanted. Always smiling at her, defending her, talking about how "amazing" she was.

I wanted to tear my hair out.

So, I did what any spoiled, bitter, and brokenhearted heiress might do. I took it out on her.

At first, it was petty stuff-cold stares, backhanded compliments, asking her what foundation she used then pretending to forget the name seconds later, offering her my shoes for an event and "accidentally" giving her two left ones. I never touched her, never threatened her, but I made sure she knew I didn't like her. That I saw through her act.

But it wasn't enough.

Because every time I tried to show people how fake she was, she flipped it around and played the victim. Luka would give me that disappointed look-the one that made my stomach twist in knots.

One time, during a pool party at Luka's place, she slipped while walking near the deep end. She didn't fall in. Barely even tripped. But I laughed-loudly-and made a snide comment about how the ground must be allergic to her plastic personality.

Everyone stared. Luka's face turned to stone. Isis burst into tears and ran inside.

I was a villain in everyone's eyes after that.

But the worst thing I ever did?

It was during Luka's birthday party. A huge affair with hundreds of guests, live music, champagne flowing like water. I had planned the prank for weeks.

I hired a handsome man to pose as a waiter. He delivered a tray to Isis during the dinner and on it was a crystal-clear photo of her leaving a hotel with him. The photo was fake, digitally altered, but it looked real. Alongside it, a note: "Still think she's perfect?"

She gasped so loudly the music practically stopped.

Luka saw the photo. He was furious, but he didn't say a word at first.

It wasn't until he found me near the pool that night that he finally snapped.

"I warned you," he said, his voice dangerously calm.

I smirked, folding my arms. "You should thank me. I'm saving you from a gold-digging fraud-"

He cut me off. "You'll apologize. Right here. Right now."

I raised my chin. "Not a chance."

"Then we're done."

My heart stopped. "What?"

"I said we're done, Valeria. Don't call me. Don't text me. I don't want anything to do with you ever again."

And then he walked away.

I thought he'd cool off in a few days. Maybe a week. Surely he couldn't stay mad forever.

But I was wrong.

He blocked me. Refused to take my calls. His assistant stonewalled every attempt to reach him. I left flowers, handwritten notes. Nothing.

Desperate, I sent one last message through his assistant, saying I wanted to apologize.

He didn't reply.

I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't breathe. I hated myself. I started to see just how awful I'd been, how blinded by jealousy. I wanted to make things right.

But before I could, the news broke-Luka proposed to Isis.

I think a part of me died that day.

I locked myself in my room for three days and cried like a child. The wedding invitation came a week later. Gold-embossed, elegant. Like a knife to the gut.

But I couldn't throw it away.

I sat on my bed, holding the invite, and cried all over again.

Then I made a decision.

If I couldn't be with Luka, if I couldn't be his friend, I could at least try to fix what I'd broken. I called Isis and asked to meet.

We met at my favorite café. I wore beige, soft makeup, no pretense.

I apologized. I meant it.

Isis smiled sweetly, wiped her eyes, and told me she understood. She promised she'd talk to Luka. Said she'd tell him how sincere I was.

But if I'd known what was going to happen next...

I would have never made that call.

Valeria's POV

Isis never made it home that day.

Later that evening, I received a call from the police asking to come in for questioning. I was stunned. Confused. But I went.

They told me she'd been in a car accident. That the vehicle had skidded off a narrow turn and crashed into a ditch. It caught fire. Isis was declared dead on the scene. The cause? Brake failure.

They told me I was the last person to see her alive.

My stomach dropped.

I answered every question calmly, even though I was shaking inside. I told them we had met to talk, that we'd made peace. I even showed them our café receipt, the timestamp. The security footage confirmed my story. But the whispers started-whispers I was already too familiar with.

People already believed I was jealous of her. And now she was dead. Of course they'd think it was me.

I don't know what strings my father pulled, but somehow, I was removed from the list of suspects. Officially.

But I knew Luka wouldn't believe it. And I was right.

Word spread that he'd doubled down on his obsession to find the killer. He was convinced someone had tampered with the brakes. And the most convenient person to blame?

Me.

Months passed. The police ruled it an accident and closed the case.

But Luka... never let it go.

I thought, deep down, I'd feel satisfied. The woman who stole my future was gone but instead, I felt nothing but guilt.

Because even if I hadn't killed her, I had wanted her gone. I had fantasized about her disappearance. And now that she was... it just felt wrong.

I knew Luka was grieving, and I wanted so badly to be there for him. To hold his hand. To say sorry. For everything. But I couldn't.

Because of everything I had done.

I attended Isis's funeral, wore black and said nothing. I stood near the back, trying to remain unnoticed.

But Luka noticed me.

As soon as the service ended, he appeared at my side and grabbed my wrist so hard I winced.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he growled under his breath.

I turned to him slowly. "I came to pay my respects."

He scoffed, jaw tight, eyes bloodshot. "You've got some nerve."

I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off.

"Meet me at the registry tomorrow. Ten a.m. sharp."

I blinked. "What? Why?"

"We're getting married." Then he dropped my wrist and walked away before I could say another word.

I should have found it suspicious. I should have questioned it but I didn't.

Because I was desperate. Because I was still in love with him. Because some part of me believed this was a second chance.

So the next morning, I showed up at the registry. In a wedding dress.

Like a lovesick idiot.

He didn't even look at me. Barely spoke. We signed the papers. The judge congratulated us. There were no photos. No kiss. No smiles. Just the cold sound of a gavel and the rush of a dream I should've let die.

The drive to his mansion was quiet, eerily so and I couldn't stop fidgeting with my dress. I was nervous, wondering what could possibly be going through his mind. He remained detached, kept his gaze directed at the road, eyes distant, hurt still lingering in them. I had to remind myself that this was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, I had just gotten married to my first love. But deep down, I must have known I made a terrible mistake but I refused to acknowledge it till it was staring me right in the face.

The car finally came to a stop at the mansion and he turned to me, expression hard and eyes empty.

"You know why I did this, don't you?"

I shook my head slowly, already terrified of what he was going to say.

"I know you killed her."

I froze.

He leaned closer. "You called her out that day so you could tamper with her car. I know it. You were always jealous. And now she's dead."

"That's not true-" I began.

"I don't want your lies," he snapped. "The police might've let you go because of your father, but I won't."

My mouth went dry. "You're wrong-"

He pulled out his phone and showed me something. A photo. A grainy image of me standing in the parking lot next to Isis's car during our café meeting. I sure as hell hadn't been anywhere near Isis' car that day, I didn't even know the color or the brand till I saw that photo. It was clearly engineered but Luka didn't seem to think so. It felt like karma for the prank I pulled.

"That's your proof?" I asked, voice shaking.

"And this," he added, flipping to a screenshot of an anonymous text message that read: She did it. Valeria killed Isis. She admitted it to me.

I stared at the screen, blinking in disbelief. "Anyone could've sent that-"

"You think I care? You think I need a confession?" He laughed bitterly. "You killed the woman I loved. And since the law won't punish you, I will."

It hit me then.

This wasn't a second chance.

This was a punishment. I had been sentenced to marriage.

"I'm going to make your life hell," he declared coldly. "You'll be trapped with me. You'll sleep in my house, eat my food, live by my rules but you'll find no peace. You'll go from the spoiled little brat you are to rueing the day you were brought into this world. I'll never let you forget your crime, your sin. You wanted to be my wife that badly, be prepared for everything that comes with it."

He walked away after that, leaving me frozen in the backseat of the car. Tears pooled in my eyes, but I didn't let them fall.

I had walked right into it. Blinded by love. By guilt. By stupidity.

And for three years, I paid the price.

But it was over now.

Finally, it was over.

I was out. Not completely healed. Not yet free of the trauma. But I had survived.

And I was carrying a child now.

I didn't know what the future held. I had no plan. No job. No idea where I would go once I landed in New Zealand. But I had my baby. And that was enough for now.

I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes.

No more Luka.

No more misery.

No more begging to be loved.

This time, I would rebuild from scratch. Stronger. Smarter. And never, ever a victim of love again.