His Barren Luna is a Pregnant Billionaire

Doria POV:

"By the Gods, Doria. What is this pathetic display?"

The cruel words sliced through the heavy, incense-laden air of the bedroom the moment the heavy oak door swung open.

Jaden Sheppard-my husband of seven years and a powerful young Exarch-stood in the doorway, bringing a biting chill into the room. He froze, his gaze sweeping over me. I held my breath, praying for a flicker of surprise, a spark of the desire I so desperately craved.

Instead, his handsome face twisted into a mask of stark bewilderment, which rapidly curdled into a sneer of pure, undisguised mockery.

A sharp, cruel laugh erupted from his chest. "Did you honestly think that by draping yourself in red silk, you could become her? You look like a clown."

I stood frozen near the edge of the bed, my hands clenching the slippery fabric until my knuckles turned white.

He was right. It felt entirely wrong. For the past few months, Jaden had been utterly captivated by another woman-Concetta Payne, a renowned, glamorous courtesan. To win back even a fraction of his attention, I had done the unthinkable. The scandalous, blood-red robe I wore was a direct imitation of Concetta's signature style. It was a vibrant, dangerous color I never wore; my own wardrobe consisted of simple cottons and linens in muted shades of gray and blue, colors that perfectly matched my quiet, invisible place in this grand house.

But Tess, my loyal maid, had practically begged me to try this. "Master Jaden only has eyes for women like her now, My Lady," she had said, her voice tight with shared frustration and pity for my sake. "Women who bloom like blood-red flowers-dangerous and tempting."

So, I had tried. And I had failed spectacularly.

Jaden stalked forward, his tall frame towering over me, casting a suffocating shadow. "Putting on a courtesan's clothes doesn't give you her fire," he sneered, his brown eyes filled with surgical contempt. "It just makes you look like a desperate caricature."

He leaned down, his face inches from mine, and suddenly took a sharp inhale. Instantly, he recoiled, waving a hand in front of his nose with an expression of visceral revulsion, as if he were choking.

"And this stench," his upper lip curled in disgust. "Are you burning Meccai leaves? It smells like cheap brothel perfume on you. It makes me want to vomit."

My blood ran ice-cold. The sheer, devastating irony of his words felt like a knife twisting in my gut. Cheap perfume? It was the exact same rare, expensive incense he spent a fortune importing for Concetta. It was rumored to make a Vorrath man's blood stir with desire. Tonight, it only made my husband gag.

"I only wore it because it's what you like!" The words tore from my throat, a pathetic, broken whisper of defense. "I am only trying to be what you want..."

"What I want?" He cut me off, his tone turning razor-sharp and merciless. "Save your little tricks from the Conrad estate. Don't forget your place, Doria. You are just an orphan from a conquered territory. It was my father's charity that saved you from rotting as a slave in the mines."

He paused, his gaze raking over my exposed leg-not with lust, but as if looking at a piece of trash. "Imitating a courtesan? You're not even a fraction of what she is. At least Concetta knows her own value. You... you just reek of desperation. You make me sick."

My mind went entirely blank. Humiliation washed over me in a burning, suffocating tide. I felt as if I were standing stark naked in the Grand Plaza, being judged and ridiculed by the entire world.

He turned his back on me, heading for the bathroom as if my very presence was a contamination.

"Take that ridiculous thing off. And air out this room before I come out." He didn't even glance over his shoulder as he delivered the cold order.

Bang.

The bathroom door slammed shut. The heavy thud sealed him away, and with it, the very last shred of my hope.

Slowly, agonizingly, I turned to look at the full-length mirror.

The woman staring back was a ruin. Her makeup was slightly smudged, the blood-red robe a glaring mockery of a love that didn't exist.

I finally saw it clearly. It wasn't the dress that disgusted him. It wasn't the incense.

It was me. It was simply me he despised.

A single tear escaped, landing hot on the back of my trembling hand before slowly turning cold.

Jaden POV:

The scalding water sluiced over my body, but I still felt dirty. I scrubbed at my skin until it was raw, desperate to wash away the sickeningly sweet, cheapened scent of Meccai leaves that clung to my nostrils.

I leaned heavily against the cold stone wall of the washroom, exhaling a harsh breath of frustration. Doria's little performance tonight hadn't just been a disaster; it was a profound insult to my intelligence and my taste.

Did she truly believe that smearing on red paint and draping herself in silk would suddenly make me desire her?

Concetta was a masterpiece. Every glance, every breath she took was exquisitely crafted, radiating a natural, intoxicating fire. Doria... Doria was a drab, gray sparrow trying to glue bright feathers to her wings. She was a clumsy, desperate apprentice trying to forge a priceless artifact, producing nothing but a laughable, pathetic caricature.

I shut off the water with a sharp twist of my wrist and stepped out of the bathing chamber.

Doria had already changed back into her drab, gray cotton nightgown. She was a small, insignificant shadow huddled in the far corner of our massive bed. The cloying scent in the room had faded, replaced by the suffocating silence of our ruined marriage.

I didn't even look at her. I walked straight to the heavy oak armoire, retrieved a separate quilt, and tossed it onto the narrow chaise lounge at the far end of the room.

I heard the sharp intake of her breath, felt her flinch behind me, but I didn't care. I wanted the physical distance. I needed it.

Lying down on the cramped lounge, my mind was a chaotic, bitter mess. The pressure from my father, the endless political maneuvering at the Court of Duty, and now... this useless burden of a partner.

Accepting this bond seven years ago had been a calculated transaction. It was a political move to appease my father and paint the Sheppard clan with a veneer of "mercy" after we slaughtered our way through the Conrad lands. I saved her life. I gave her a title, a home, and protection.

In return, she was supposed to give me an heir.

But it had been seven years. Seven years, and her womb remained as empty and useless as the day I claimed her.

Barren.

The word was a curse that echoed relentlessly in my mind. For a Vorrath noble, having no heir wasn't just a personal failure; it was the ultimate disgrace. My peers had already secured their lineages. Their partners had brought honor, strength, and children to their families.

And I, Jaden Sheppard, the youngest Exarch in a century, was shackled to a defective human woman. I could hear the whispers behind my back in the gilded halls of power, the mocking speculation that the mighty Sheppard bloodline would wither and die with me.

It was a fatal blow to my political future. How could an Exarch who couldn't even plant a seed in his own home be trusted to manage the affairs of an empire?

I turned over restlessly, the narrowness of the chaise making me feel trapped.

I regretted it. I regretted the fleeting moment of weakness that made me spare her. I should have let her be shipped off to the dark mines or the military camps with the rest of the Conrad survivors. My so-called mercy had earned me nothing but seven years of shame, mockery, and a bad investment I couldn't easily discard.

Doria POV:

I lay frozen in the darkness, listening to the harsh sounds of him tossing and turning on the chaise lounge across the room. Every angry rustle of the fabric was like a physical lash against my skin.

He wouldn't even share a bed with me anymore. I was a plague he had to quarantine himself from.

I don't know how much time passed before his restless shifting stopped, and his breathing finally evened out into the heavy rhythm of sleep.

Slowly, I rose from the bed. My bare feet met the freezing stone floor, sending a shiver up my legs. The room was bitterly cold, and he only had a thin quilt. I wanted to cover him properly, to make sure he didn't catch a chill.

It was a stupid, pathetic, ingrained habit. The instinct of a woman who still foolishly believed she was a wife.

I moved like a thief in my own bedroom, inching closer to the sofa. I reached out, my fingers gently grasping the edge of the quilt that had slipped off his broad shoulders.

Just as I leaned over him, his brow furrowed deeply in his sleep. His lips parted, and a voice, thick with sleep but dripping with unmistakable disgust, slurred into the quiet room.

"...a burden... a barren vessel..."

My body went entirely rigid. The breath was punched out of my lungs. The blood in my veins didn't just turn to ice; it stopped flowing altogether.

Even in his dreams. Even in the unconscious depths of his mind, he hated me.

A barren vessel.

So that was it. That was my entire definition in his heart. Not Doria. Not his partner. Not a woman who had spent seven years trying to love him. I was just a worthless, non-producing object. A defective container that had failed its only purpose.

The quilt slipped from my numb fingers, falling to the floor.

Slowly, so incredibly slowly, I straightened up. I didn't cry. The burning humiliation from earlier tonight-the sharp, stabbing pain of being mocked for my red dress-suddenly vanished.

In its place, a strange, hollow numbness spread through my chest.

I retreated to the bed, one mechanical step at a time. I lay back down, pulling the covers up to my chin, and stared blankly at the dark, vaulted ceiling.

I had once believed that if I was patient enough, gentle enough, obedient enough, I could eventually melt the ice around his heart. I had once believed the sacred bonding ceremony between us meant something, that it held some lingering spark of warmth.

Now, staring into the dark, I finally understood. There was nothing left to salvage.

In his eyes, I was a failed transaction. A bad investment occupying a space that should have yielded a return.

The pain of a completely dead heart was so much different than the sting of humiliation. Humiliation was a sharp knife that made you bleed and cry. This... this was a slow-acting poison that had finally reached my brain, shutting down the very organ that kept hoping.

I closed my eyes. An image of our bonding ceremony seven years ago flashed in my mind. He had been distant then, too, but I had convinced myself I saw a flicker of gentleness in his brown eyes.

It was all just a pathetic illusion I had painted to survive.

A long, quiet exhale escaped my lips. The desperate, suffocating need to be loved by Jaden Sheppard-a need that had choked me for seven years-finally bled out of me.

I didn't feel angry anymore. I didn't feel the urge to cry. I just felt... empty. And in that cold, absolute emptiness, I found a strange, liberating peace.

Doria POV:

The first light of dawn crept through the arched window, pale and unforgiving. I opened my eyes. I hadn't slept a single second, yet my mind was unnervingly, terrifyingly clear.

I sat up, my gaze immediately landing on the crumpled red silk robe discarded on the floor like a bloody rag. A wave of profound disgust washed over me-not for the dress, but for the woman who had worn it.

Just hours ago, I had draped myself in that ridiculous imitation, drenched in cloying incense, practically begging for a scrap of affection from a man who looked at me like I was a disease. I had twisted myself into a pathetic caricature, sacrificing every ounce of my dignity to please a husband who only saw me as a "barren vessel."

No more.

The thought crystallized in my mind, sharp and cold as a diamond. I could not continue living like this. I refused to spend the rest of my life rotting in this toxic marriage, shrinking myself to fit into the suffocating shadow of his contempt. Before I was Jaden Sheppard's unwanted, defective wife, I was Doria. I was a survivor. I had my own mind, my own soul. I had to tear myself out of this gilded cage before it destroyed me completely.

I looked toward the chaise lounge. Jaden was already gone. It held only a rumpled quilt, a silent, mocking reminder of my pathetic attempt to care for him last night.

I rose from the bed with a strange, absolute sense of calm. My bare feet were silent against the stone floor as I walked to my jewelry box.

It was sparsely filled, mostly with uninspired, heavy gems Jaden had given me on festival days merely to keep up appearances. My fingers brushed past the cold jewels, stopping on a small, intricately woven silver-thread bracelet.

It was our Binding Knot. Placed on our wrists by the high priest at our ceremony seven years ago, it symbolized the eternal weaving of our souls. I had once considered it the most precious thing I owned, never taking it off.

My fingers worked at the complex knot, my movements slow, deliberate, and entirely steady. When the silver thread finally loosened and the bracelet slid from my wrist, I waited for the heartbreak. But I felt nothing. No regret, no sadness. Just a vast, liberating emptiness.

I found an empty, velvet-lined box-one Jaden used for cufflinks he no longer wore. I placed the silver bracelet inside and snapped the lid shut. The sharp click echoed in the quiet room. The action felt exactly like burying something that was already dead.

I turned and summoned Tess, my most loyal servant.

When she entered, she took one look at my pale face and slightly swollen eyes and rushed to my side. "My lady, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Tess," I said, my voice perfectly even. "In fact, I've never been better."

From a hidden compartment beneath my vanity, I retrieved a small, heavy iron key. I reached out and pressed it firmly into her palm. "Tess, this is the key to my dowry chest. Inside are some property deeds and financial notes."

I held her gaze, my tone quiet but every word sharp and clear. "I need you to liquidate all of it. Be quick, and be absolutely discreet. Do not use any of the Sheppard family's channels or bankers."

Tess's eyes widened in sheer shock. "My lady, what are you...?"

"I'm leaving," I said, my voice unwavering. "I am going to seek The Severance."

The Severance. In Vorrath law, it was the ultimate, irreversible ritual to sever a bond. Once completed, the two parties were no longer connected, becoming absolute strangers in the eyes of the law and the gods. It was a separation more final than death itself.

Tess's lips trembled. She looked at me, searching my face for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, her expression shifted from shock to a grim, unwavering resolve.

"Yes, my lady," was all she said, her fingers closing tightly around the iron key.

"Where... where will we go?" she asked in a lower voice, a hint of natural fear for the unknown creeping into her tone. I knew what she was thinking. A lone human female, stripped of the protection of a powerful Vorrath noble, was considered easy prey in Vorrath Keep.

"Somewhere he can never find us," I said, a small, genuine smile touching my lips for the first time in months. "A place where we can start over."

I wasn't walking blindly into the dark. I had an ace Jaden knew absolutely nothing about. My secret business-a highly exclusive, high-end social club called The Gilded Lily-had been quietly and steadily accumulating wealth for me over the past four years.

Jaden thought I was a destitute orphan, a parasite completely dependent on his charity. He was dead wrong.

Tess looked at my determined expression, took a deep, steadying breath, and then suddenly knelt before me.

"Wherever you go, my lady, Tess will follow," she swore, her voice thick with fierce emotion and loyalty.

I reached down and helped her to her feet, feeling the first true flicker of warmth in my heart in years.

Leaving Tess to her tasks, I walked over to my heavy oak writing desk and unrolled a fresh, crisp sheet of parchment.

I needed to prepare a formal Application for The Severance. According to the law, it had to be signed by both parties, or submitted directly to the Court of Duty to be ruled upon by an Archon.

I knew Jaden would never agree willingly. He didn't love me, but his arrogant pride would never allow a "defective human" to be the one to discard him. He would want to control the narrative.

But I didn't care about his pride anymore. I had to go.

I picked up the heavy quill, dipped it deep into the black ink, and brought it to the bottom of the parchment. I didn't write Doria Sheppard.

With firm, elegant strokes, I wrote my true name: Doria Conrad.