Mr Billionaire's Plaything

Arabella's POV

I press my thighs together as the warmth leaves me, trickling into the toilet. My heart slams against my ribs like it's trying to break out of my chest. I sit still, breathing unevenly, gripping the edge of the bathroom counter as if the marble will anchor me through this storm.

I don't want to know.

And yet, I do.

The test sits next to me on the sink, cap still off. I haven't dipped it yet. It's there, like a loaded gun. One I built with my own curiosity.

What if he doesn't want a child?

What if this pushes him further away?

What if, God forbid this ruins the one good thing we've started to build in three damn years?

No. Not "we." Me. I built it. Brick by hopeful brick. He just lived in it.

I close my eyes and pray for strength. Not for a positive or a negative. Just strength. To face whatever happens in the next five minutes.

Slowly, I dip the strip into the urine sample. One... two... ten.

I cap it and lay it flat on the counter with trembling fingers.

My phone's timer starts its five-minute countdown. Each second ticks louder than the last. My leg bounces uncontrollably, fingers twitching, lips trembling.

I don't know if I want to cry, scream, or laugh.

God, let it be good news. Whatever that means.

My reflection in the mirror is a ghost. Pale. Eyes wide. A version of me I don't recognize. Not the strong Arabella who walked into this marriage with her chin high and her heart bruised but brave. This woman looks... breakable.

And for the first time in forever, I feel it.

Breakable.

I blink, once. Twice. I try to smile, but my lips betray me. They tremble instead.

I try to stand tall, but my knees buckle.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Five minutes can stretch like five years when your whole life hangs on two pink lines.

And then, ding.

The timer screams.

My eyes refuse to obey, still glued to the mirror, where doubt and fear have made a permanent home. I don't look down. Not yet.

Instead, I breathe. A slow, shaking inhale. A stuttered exhale.

Then I drop my gaze.

Two pink lines.

Two bold, undeniable lines.

Pregnant.

I cover my mouth with both hands as a rush of disbelief, relief, and joy floods me all at once. A hysterical laugh escapes, tears chasing it down my cheeks. My knees give out, and I sit on the cold tiled floor, back against the wall.

I'm pregnant.

I'm going to have a baby.

I whisper it aloud like it'll feel more real: "I'm pregnant."

I run my hand gently over my stomach, already imagining the life growing inside. Mine. Ours.

But then... his face flashes in my mind.

Richard.

Will he be happy?

Or will this be the final push that sends him running into someone else's arms?

That question slices my joy in half.

We've been married for three years. But let's not pretend, it wasn't love. Not on his end. It was an arrangement. A contract signed with suits and lawyers and desperation on both sides. I gave my heart for free. He handed me his signature.

But lately... things have changed. He smiles more. Sleeps beside me more often than not. Kisses my forehead when he thinks I'm asleep. Even laughs sometimes.

Or maybe I imagined all that.

Maybe I just wanted to believe that the man I fell for would one day fall back.

I rise to my feet, wipe my tears, toss the test into the bin, and march out of the bathroom.

I don't plan what I'll say. I just need to see his eyes when I tell him. I need to believe he'll see me. Really see me. Not just the woman he married, but the woman carrying his child.

The hallway to his home office feels longer than usual. My heartbeat echoes through it like a war drum. I clutch the wall at the last step, grounding myself.

Then I hear it.

His voice.

Muffled but unmistakable, deep and smooth like melted dark chocolate.

"I love you, Eve."

My world freezes.

His laugh follows, careless and warm. The kind he's never given me. The kind I've only ever dreamed about.

Eve.

My fingers go numb on the doorknob.

Who the hell is Eve?

I crack the door open just enough to see him behind his desk, phone to his ear, his smile wide, eyes crinkled.

"I can't stop thinking about that night," he says. "I wish I were with you now."

My breath dies in my throat.

He spins toward the door just as I swing it open, and our eyes lock.

For a split second, I see it, the guilt. The panic. But it's gone so fast I wonder if I imagined it.

He ends the call, pocketing his phone with irritating ease.

"Arabella," he says, as if nothing happened. "I was just about to come see you."

I don't speak.

I want to scream. To throw the nearest object at his perfect, lying face. But the words choke in my throat, blocked by the lump of betrayal.

"Did you get the papers?" he asks, flipping files into his briefcase, not even glancing at me.

I blink. "What papers?"

"The divorce papers."

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

He finally looks up.

"My girlfriend, Eve Rogers, is back," he says simply. "We had an agreement, remember? When she came back, we'd end this. I'm going to marry her."

The words hit harder than any slap. They slice through me, cruel and clean. I stagger back, one hand gripping my stomach.

"Eve Rogers," I whisper.

How could I forget the name of the woman he loved before me? The woman he mourned through our wedding vows. The ghost who haunted our bedroom walls.

I thought she was gone. Out of the picture.

But she's back.

And I'm out.

He sees the devastation in my eyes, and for a fleeting second, I swear he falters. But then his gaze hardens again.

"I'm sorry, Arabella. I know this is hard."

I laugh. A cold, bitter sound. "Hard? You're divorcing me like we're canceling a lunch date. I just.." My voice breaks. "I just found out I'm pregnant, Richard."

His eyes widen. For once, he's speechless.

"I was coming to tell you. I thought you'd be happy. I thought we were finally getting somewhere," I whisper, stepping closer. "But you were too busy telling Eve how much you love her."

He says nothing.

"Say something," I beg.

He runs a hand through his hair, pacing. "I didn't expect this."

"Clearly."

He looks at me, and this time there's no ice in his expression. Just raw, exposed confusion. And fear.

"I can't have a child with someone I don't love," he finally says.

The floor tilts beneath me.

I cover my mouth again, not in joy this time, but to hold back the sob threatening to rip me in half.

I want to beg. To scream. To hit him. But all I do is nod.

"I see," I manage.

I turn around. I can't stay in this room. I can't stay in this house.

My legs carry me down the stairs, through the door, into the cold. I don't even grab my coat.

The wind slaps my face like the truth I refused to see for three years.

I thought this baby would save us.

I was wrong.

It's the beginning of the end.

Or maybe... just maybe, it's the start of something else.

Because as I walk away from Richard's mansion, and from the wreckage of a marriage built on lies, I don't feel weak anymore.

I feel something I haven't felt in a long time.

Fury.

And fire.

Let Eve have him.

He just lost the best thing he never valued.

And this baby?

He or she will never beg to be loved.

Not by someone like Richard Blackwood.

Richard's POV

The sting of her slap lingers on my skin like fire under ice. I barely flinch, but my mother's fury lands heavier than her palm ever could.

Her voice trembles with rage. "You selfish, arrogant boy."

I don't answer. I'm too tired to fight the same war again. She's crying now, quiet, controlled, but I see it. Her hands clench into fists at her sides like she's holding back the world.

"You're destroying a good woman," she whispers. "A woman who saved your life."

I clench my jaw. Not this again.

"Don't turn this into some guilt parade. I didn't ask Arabel to save me."

Her eyes snap up, bright with fire. "You wouldn't be alive if she hadn't."

The silence presses between us like a wall. I shift on my feet, suddenly restless. My heart's thumping. Not because of guilt, because I'm done pretending.

"No, Mother," I say, my voice sharp, solid. "I'm not going to beg Arabel to stay. I want the divorce. I'm doing what I should have done years ago."

"You're a fool."

"Maybe. But at least I'll be an honest one."

She stares at me like she doesn't recognize the son she raised. But I recognize myself more clearly now than I ever have. I've lived three years pretending that kindness is the same as love. That loyalty is enough. But pretending is a slow kind of death.

"I love Eve," I say softly, like a vow. "I always have."

My mother steps back like I struck her. "She left you."

"She left because I lied. Because I married Arabel. Because I gave up on what I wanted."

"And now you'll hurt another woman because of your regrets?"

I don't respond. I don't need to. The truth hangs there between us. Heavy. Ugly.

She wipes her cheek and levels a glare at me that could carve stone. "Then you deserve whatever comes next."

With that, she turns and storms out, heels clicking like war drums on the marble floor.

I breathe out slowly, a mixture of release and dread. I should feel free.

But all I feel is unsettled.

I sink into my office chair and lean forward, elbows on the desk. The papers are still warm from her hands. Divorce documents. My name and Arabel's written side by side like strangers forced to share a sentence.

This isn't just the end of a marriage. It's the closing of a debt. One I never asked to owe.

My hand moves to the photo on my desk, a picture of Arabel and me, taken on our second anniversary. We're smiling, or pretending to. She's looking at me. I'm looking at the camera.

I slide the photo face-down.

I owe her honesty, if not love.

The truth is, I never hated Arabel. She was kind. Soft. Predictable. But I never felt fire. Not the way I did with Eve. Eve was chaos and clarity all at once. She challenged me. Saw through me. Broke me and still made me want more.

And I broke her.

I remember the look in her eyes when I told her I was marrying someone else. I remember how she didn't scream. She just left. Cool. Controlled. Like she'd already buried us.

She went to London, started her PhD, and disappeared from my world for three years.

Until last week.

Until the kiss.

Until I realized everything I buried still burns.

Now she's back, and this time, I won't let her go.

I grab my coat, shove the divorce papers into my briefcase, and head out. My driver greets me with a nod, but I wave him off. I want to drive myself. I need the distraction, the control, the space to think.

The engine hums to life, and I speed toward her apartment, the one I bought for her five years ago just to keep her close. I told Arabel it was an investment. It was a lie. Like so many others.

The streets blur past. My pulse races. All I can think about is her voice, her mouth, her eyes.

I pull up in front of her building, kill the engine, and jog to the entrance. The guard recognizes me and doesn't stop me. He never does.

I take the stairs two at a time. Adrenaline courses through me. I should feel nervous. But I don't. I feel... alive.

I knock.

No answer.

I knock again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

I try the knob on instinct and it turns. Unlocked.

Strange.

I push the door open slowly. The living room is empty, but her phone buzzes on the coffee table with my missed call flashing across the screen.

"Eve?" I call out. My voice echoes.

No response.

Maybe she's asleep. She used to take long naps when she was reading or stressed.

I walk toward her bedroom. The hallway is dim. Her perfume lingers in the air, vanilla and danger.

I pause at her door.

A sound reaches me.

A moan.

Soft. Sharp. Definitely not a yawn.

I freeze.

Another moan, louder this time. "Yes... Jake..."

The name hits me like a bat to the chest.

Jake?

My hand slips from the doorframe.

Jake?

Another moan. Laughter. Sheets rustling.

I can't move.

Can't breathe.

I hear her again. "Harder."

No.

No, no, no.

My palm is sweating. Rage builds like pressure behind my eyes.

I push the door open.

The world stops.

There she is, Eve, naked and glowing with sweat. Tangled in bed sheets. Her back arched, hair wild, chest heaving.

Not with me.

With him.

The man between her legs jerks upright.

And when he turns....

The final blow.

Jake Davenport.

My best friend.

My business partner.

My fucking best man at my wedding to Arabel.

He's the one inside her.

He's the one making her moan.

He's the one who didn't stop when I walked in.

The room spins.

Eve gasps and scrambles for the sheet, pressing it to her chest. But her eyes, God, her eyes, they don't say sorry. They say busted.

Jake looks stunned. Guilty. Silent.

I laugh. A short, ugly sound.

"Well," I say, my voice flat. "I guess we're all liars."

Eve opens her mouth, but I shake my head.

"Don't," I whisper. "Just... don't."

My vision tunnels. I turn before I kill someone.

Richard Pov

The wheel jerks in my grip as I make the turn out of Eve's apartment complex. My hands are shaking, my chest too tight to breathe properly. I can't think straight. I can't see straight.

I shouldn't be driving.

But sitting in that driveway any longer, knowing what's happening just a floor above me, would've broken me into something dangerous.

So I drive.

Fast enough to feel in control.

Slow enough not to kill myself.

My jaw clenches every time I hear her voice again. "Yes, Jake." Over and over. Burned into my brain like a bad tattoo. My mouth tastes like metal. My pulse keeps skipping, then crashing.

I dig my thumb into the steering wheel, pressing so hard I swear I could snap it off.

Jake.

My best friend.

My brother in everything but blood.

He held my hand when my father died. He toasted at my wedding. He helped me pick the fucking suit I wore the day I married Arabel.

And he's the one Eve wraps her legs around the moment she comes back.

I should turn around. I should walk back into that room and tear him apart.

But I won't.

Because if I do, I won't stop.

I clench the gearshift, pressing down on the brake just before I fly past a red light. I exhale. The sob that wants to come out stays lodged in my throat.

No tears.

Not for her.

She doesn't deserve them.

And yet, they sting behind my eyes anyway. The kind that builds slow. The kind that hurts worse because you're not allowed to cry in the first place.

My phone buzzes in the cup holder. Probably my secretary, wondering why I missed my appointment. Or my mother, sensing the world's on fire. Or Jake, God forbid.

I don't check.

Instead, I think about Arabel.

I think about her standing there, hopeful, vulnerable, only for me to tell her I wanted a divorce. I didn't even have the decency to lie soft.

She looked at me like I ripped her open with my bare hands. And I told myself it was for love.

But what kind of love makes you discard a woman who's done nothing but try?

I grip the wheel tighter and pull into a gas station to stop myself from crashing into the guilt eating through my skin.

What did I even say to her?

That I wanted Eve.

That she was just temporary.

That I was going to marry someone else.

God, I'm a monster.

I rake a hand through my hair and squeeze the back of my neck until it hurts. Arabel didn't just take that quietly. I saw it in her eyes. That break. That snap.

And I left her like that.

I left her broken to chase someone who was already betraying me.

If I go back now, what do I even say?

Sorry, I take it back. Let's pretend I didn't try to trade you in for my cheating ex.

That sounds like something she should slap me for.

But I have to try.

Because suddenly, I'm not sure I deserve her... but I'm even more sure I can't lose her.

Not now.

Not like this.

I push the gear into drive and head home.

The house is too quiet when I arrive. Not empty, just... cold.

I nod at the butler without making eye contact. He says something. I don't hear it. My ears are still ringing with Eve's moans and the echo of Arabel's silence.

I make my way down the hall. The photos on the wall blur. Our wedding. A fundraiser gala. Some political dinner. All the times I stood beside Arabel pretending to be someone she could love.

She smiled in every one.

I didn't even try to.

I pause at her door.

We haven't shared a room since the beginning. That was my rule. Clear lines. No confusion. No intimacy.

Until two months ago.

She fell asleep on my bed, wrapped in my arms, soft and warm like home I didn't realize I had.

And I let it happen.

I told myself it was nothing.

I lied.

I knock.

No answer.

I press my ear against the wood. Nothing. Not even shuffling.

"Arabel?" My voice cracks, quiet and unsure for the first time in years.

Still nothing.

I try again, louder this time. "Arabella, please."

Silence.

The sick feeling in my gut shifts into dread. I reach for the handle and turn.

Unlocked.

The door creaks open slowly.

Empty.

Her closet is wide open, and completely bare.

What the hell?

I walk in fully now, chest rising and falling too fast. All her dresses. Her silk scarves. The perfume bottles she lined up perfectly. Gone.

I open the drawers. Empty.

Bathroom counter. Empty.

Makeup tray. Empty.

She's not here.

She left.

I whirl around and spot the envelope on the bed.

The divorce papers.

The ones I gave her in cruelty.

I pick them up. My name stares back at me, typed cleanly beside hers.

And under her signature... there it is.

Arabel's handwriting.

A separate piece of paper slips from the folder, floating to the floor like something delicate and final.

I bend down to grab it.

Two words.

Thank you. Goodbye.

The floor feels like it caves beneath me.

I sit on the bed hard. The paper crumples in my hand, my vision blurs, but I force the tears back because crying now won't undo anything.

She signed the papers.

She walked out of our home.

She left me.

And I deserve it.

Every. Fucking. Bit.

I clutch the note tighter. My mouth opens but nothing comes out.

Not even her name.

Because I don't know if I have the right to say it anymore.

Do I go after her?

What do I even say?

That I've changed my mind?

That I suddenly realized she meant more than I ever let on?

Would that even matter now?

Would I matter to her?

I pace the room, dragging a hand down my face, my heartbeat deafening. I try to imagine where she could've gone. Her sister's? A hotel? Out of the country?

I pull out my phone and tap her number.

Voicemail.

Again.

And again.

I send a text. "Please. Let's talk."

Nothing.

I message her again.

"I'm sorry."

Still nothing.

I want to scream.

I want to hit something.

But I don't.

I just stand there. Alone. With divorce papers and a goodbye note.

Everything I asked for.

Everything I thought I wanted.

And now that it's here, it feels like a knife I twisted into my own chest.

My gaze drifts to the vanity. One bobby pin sits forgotten on the edge of the mirror. A hair tie on the nightstand. Little fragments of her.

The ones I never noticed until they were all I had left.

My knees buckle, and I drop onto the bed again, burying my face in my hands.

This is hell.

Not the betrayal from Eve.

Not Jake's cowardice.

This.

This silence.

This note.

This empty room that used to hold the one person who, despite everything, never stopped trying to love me.

And I broke her anyway.

I let go of a woman who never let go of me.

And now?

She's gone.