Mr Billionaire's Second Chance

Zara's POV:

My heart skipped a beat as Michael's words hit me like a freight train. "We're done," he said, his voice cold, like he was speaking to a stranger. The shock must have been visible on my face because I felt my stomach drop. Done? What was he talking about?

"Michael, what do you mean we are done?" I asked, my voice shaking, a tremor running through my hands. I could feel the panic rising in my chest, but I forced myself to hold it in. I couldn't understand. We'd been together for three years. Everything had been fine. At least, I thought it had been fine. What changed?

He turned away from me, facing the window, his back straight, his posture rigid. "Listen to me, Zara," he said, his voice flat, like he was explaining something simple. "I'm done with this relationship. It's not working."

The words didn't make sense. I took a step closer to him, my legs feeling heavy as though the weight of his words had planted me to the spot. "Michael, what are you talking about?" I asked again, this time with more urgency. "We've been fine for three years, so why now? Why are you doing this?"

He didn't look at me. Instead, he took a deep breath and stood up, walking across the room like it was nothing. The space between us felt miles apart, even though we were standing in the same room. "Just pack your things and leave," he said, his voice cold and final.

I couldn't believe it. I reached out instinctively, my hand catching his mid-air. "Michael, no. You love me. You said you did. We were fine, you were happy, we were happy-" My voice faltered, and I stopped, searching his eyes, trying to find some trace of the man I knew, the man who once promised me forever. But there was nothing. His eyes-those eyes I thought I knew-were distant, cold.

He pulled his hand away from mine, his face contorting with disgust, like he was disgusted by me. My chest tightened. My heart felt like it was going to stop beating. "Get yourself together, Zara," he said, his words sharp and unfeeling. "Don't you get it? This can't work out between us."

But it had worked for three years. I couldn't understand it. What had changed? I was desperate now. I needed answers. "But we've been fine for three years, Michael!" I said, my voice rising in frustration, my hands shaking. "What happened? What changed?"

He didn't answer me right away. He only stood there, rubbing his face like he couldn't even look at me. My heart raced. What was going on? Why was he acting like this? I needed him to tell me the truth.

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked, my voice breaking as the fear started to creep in. "Michael, please, you're all I've got. You're my family. Don't do this to me." I reached for him again, desperate to make him understand, but he stepped back, avoiding my touch.

"Please, Michael," I begged, dropping to my knees in front of him. Tears flooded my eyes, hot and painful. I couldn't believe this was happening. I had something to tell him, something happy. I was going to share something that would change everything, but now... now this? "I don't want to lose you," I whispered, my voice barely audible as I fought to keep my breath steady. "I don't want to lose what we had. What did I do wrong?"

I looked up at him, hoping to see some hint of affection, some softness, some glimmer of the man I loved. But it wasn't there. He stood over me, cold and distant, his face expressionless.

He sighed and helped me to my feet, his touch gentle but distant. "I have a wife, Zara," he said, his voice low.

The world stopped. I couldn't breathe. "A wife?" The word barely left my lips, a whisper, a stammer. "What do you mean you have a wife? You never mentioned anything about her. Why now?"

His eyes avoided mine as he spoke again, his voice quieter. "She went abroad to finish her studies. She's coming back today, and I can't let her find you here."

I felt like the floor had fallen out beneath me. My heart shattered, the pieces falling in slow motion. Why did you save me, then? The question slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. "Why did you keep me? You could have let me die. Why did you choose to keep me around?"

The pain in my chest intensified with every word I said. I wanted to scream, to make him understand how much he had hurt me, but all I could do was whisper, "You promised... You promised you'd love me forever."

The words hung in the air, unanswered.

I stood frozen, my breath hitching in my throat as Michael scoffed. The sound was sharp, laced with something cruel. He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a sneer.

"What were you thinking?" he asked, his voice dripping with disgust. "That I would marry a lowlife like you?"

My heart clenched. His words sliced through me, each one more painful than the last.

"You are a nobody, for crying out loud, Zara," he continued, his gaze hard and unrelenting. "You don't have what it takes. Let me be frank with you-I stayed with you out of pity, okay? I never loved you. I just didn't want to watch you jump down that cliff, Do you understand that now?"

I shook my head, my lips trembling as I

tried to speak. "But-"

"Please, Zara," he cut me off sharply. "Go pack your things and leave my house."

I felt the air leave my lungs. My hands clenched into fists as a wave of panic surged through me. "Where do you want me to go?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Michael sighed, exasperated, and turned away. "I don't care. I just don't want to see you again."

He walked toward the stairs, his back rigid, his decision final.

I crumpled onto the cold floor, my body trembling as hot tears spilled down my cheeks. This was it. The end. After everything, he was throwing me away like I was nothing.

I gasped for breath, my chest heaving. "Michael... I'm pregnant," I choked out, my voice breaking.

His steps faltered. He stopped mid-stride, his back stiffening. Slowly, he turned his head, his expression unreadable.

"What did you just say?"

Zara pov

"I'm pregnant, Michael," I repeated, this time in a calmer voice, wiping my tears away with the back of my palm. My heart was racing, but I steadied myself, hoping-praying-that these words would change everything.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the folded paper, my fingers trembling slightly. Climbing the stairs to meet him, I held it out. "Here, you can see for yourself," I said, forcing a small smile. This had to mean something to him. It had to.

Michael stood frozen, his expression unreadable as he snatched the paper from my hands. His fingers hastily unfolded it, eyes scanning the words. I held my breath, waiting for a shift in his demeanor, some flicker of regret or concern.

Instead, laughter.

A deep, mocking laugh that echoed through the house.

I stiffened, confusion washing over me like a cold wave. "Really, Zara? Is this what you want to do?" he scoffed, shaking his head.

I swallowed hard. "What do you mean?"

He took a step closer, his lips curling into something cruel. "Are you trying to force a child on me?"

His words sent a sharp pain through my chest. My brows furrowed in disbelief. "Michael, the child is yours," I said firmly.

His face twisted in disgust. "I can't father that thing you're carrying. It can't be mine," he spat, his voice dripping with rejection. Then, as if my entire existence meant nothing, he flicked the paper at me, letting it fall to the ground.

"Go pack your things and leave my house," he added before turning on his heel and walking away without a second glance.

I stood there, numb, my body unwilling to move. My fingers curled around my stomach protectively as silent tears slid down my cheeks. How had it come to this? How had my life turned into such a mess?

I sank onto the stairs, my mind drowning in thoughts I couldn't untangle.

A light tap on my shoulder startled me. "Ma'am," the house help called softly.

I blinked, snapping back to reality.

"Your bag," she said, gesturing to the neatly packed suitcase beside her. My suitcase.

A weak smile formed on my lips. So, it was final.

"Mr. Michael asked me to see you out of the house," she added hesitantly.

I looked toward the hallway, my heart aching for one last moment with him. "Can I see him one last time?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She shook her head. "That would not be necessary."

And just like that, the last piece of hope I had crumbled.

As I picked up my bag, its weight felt insignificant compared to the heaviness in my chest. My legs dragged beneath me, each step sluggish, as I walked out of the house I had once called home. The house help followed silently behind me, her presence barely registering in my mind.

The door clicked shut behind me-a finality I wasn't ready for. I stood at the entrance, staring at the walls that had witnessed my laughter, my tears, my dreams. The home that had sheltered me, the place where beautiful memories had been made... now just a building, stripped of warmth, stripped of belonging.

A sharp pain twisted inside me, and before I knew it, my knees buckled. I slumped onto the cold ground, my fingers trembling as they touched the rough pavement. This wasn't just a house. It was a piece of me. And now, I was walking away from it forever. After what felt like an eternity, I finally forced myself to stand. My legs trembled beneath me, but I straightened my shoulders, determined to face the world outside-a world that once terrified me.

I lowered my gaze to my stomach, my fingers gently brushing over the small swell. "Thank you for coming," I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. This tiny life growing inside me was my only anchor now, the only reason I had to keep moving forward.

With shaky hands, I unzipped my bag, rummaging through it until my fingers brushed against the bundle of cash I had carefully saved. Micheal's birthday money. It was still there. A sigh of relief escaped my lips. I had cried enough. There were no more tears left to shed.

I turned one last time, my eyes lingering on the house-the place that had given me love, pain, and everything in between. A home that was no longer mine.

"Be happy, Micheal," I murmured, even as the words splintered something inside me.

Then, gathering every ounce of strength I had left, I picked myself up and walked away-broken, but not defeated.

Zara's POV

"Zara! When will you pay up? The rent is due!"

Madam Sandy's voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and filled with irritation. Her fists pounded on the flimsy wooden door over and over again, rattling it on its weak hinges. I remained still, my breath shallow, pressing my back against the cold wall as if she wouldn't sense my presence. My heart pounded in sync with her knocks, but I refused to make a sound.

"You better come out here and pay up my money, child!" she barked.

I shut my eyes and counted her footsteps as they faded into the distance. Only then did I allow myself a shaky sigh of relief, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly.

Slowly, I stretched my legs out, wincing as I rubbed my swollen belly. Six months in, and I still had nothing-no crib, no baby clothes, no savings. The little money I scraped together barely kept me fed, let alone secured my future. Every day was a battle. A fight to find work, to survive. But no one wanted to hire a heavily pregnant woman. Not for a real job, at least.

My stomach grumbled, a deep, aching sound that echoed through the tiny, damp space I called home. Hunger had become my most familiar companion, whispering to me at all hours. I pressed my head against the cracked wall, the rough surface biting into my skin. Somewhere in the darkness, a rat scurried, its tiny claws scratching against the floor. I barely flinched. I had grown used to them.

No sane person would choose to live here, not even a pregnant woman. But this was my reality-the only thing I could afford. And every month, I had to fight to keep it.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to stand. Sitting here wouldn't change anything. I couldn't afford to starve. I peered through the small, dust-covered window, scanning the narrow alleyway. No sign of Madam Sandy. Still, I waited a moment longer, watching for any movement.

When I was sure the coast was clear, I reached for my pink gown-the only decent clothing I had left. My fingers lingered on the fabric, remembering the way Michael had smiled when he gave it to me. He was so happy back then. I swallowed the lump in my throat before it could turn into tears.

Shaking off the memories, I adjusted the gown and stepped out, determined. I had one mission-find a job. Any job. Because no matter how cruel the world was, I had someone to fight for now.

And I wouldn't let my child down.

"You can't work here, okay? I'm so sorry."

Another rejection. Another door closed in my face.

"But why, ma'am?" My voice cracked as I fought to keep my composure.

The woman, probably in her late thirties, gave me a look filled with pity, as if my very existence burdened her. "Look at you... you're heavy. The job here requires strength, and you just can't do that."

"Ma'am, please," I begged, my fingers gently grasping her hand. "I can manage. I can do the dishes, anything. I just... I need this job."

Desperation leaked into my words, but it didn't matter. She pulled her hand away, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I can't."

And just like that, she turned her back on me, walking away as if I were nothing more than an inconvenience.

I stood there, frozen, my mind spinning. I stared out the restaurant window, blinking rapidly to stop the tears threatening to spill. The rejection stung, but the humiliation cut deeper. I could feel the stares of strangers-some filled with curiosity, others with silent judgment.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to move. Slowly, I rose from my seat and walked outside, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me. My body ached, my stomach twisted in hunger, but there was nothing I could do.

I sank down at the edge of the building, wrapping my arms around myself. I was tired. Starving. And the worst part? I knew I had no choice but to wait-wait until nightfall, when the restaurant would close, and they would throw away the leftovers.

That was my only chance at a meal.

Gently, I lay on the pavement, ignoring the curious stares of passersby. Their judgment meant nothing to me anymore. I closed my eyes, one hand resting on my belly, tracing slow, comforting circles.

"I hope my baby never has to die of starvation."

The thought clung to me like a shadow, heavy and terrifying. But before I could dwell on it any longer, exhaustion pulled me under, and I drifted into sleep.

A sudden tap jolted me awake.

"What are you doing here?" a sharp voice demanded.

Blinking against the harsh evening light, I looked up. A woman stood over me, hands on her waist, her face twisted in anger.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," I said quickly, pushing myself up into a sitting position.

"Why are you lying there?" she pressed.

"I was waiting for you to close," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

She frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. "Why?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I'm starving... and the leftovers are my only meal."

For a moment, she said nothing. Her expression softened just slightly before she turned on her heel and disappeared inside. I lowered my gaze, expecting another rejection, another night of hunger.

But then, she returned. In her hands was a packed meal.

"Here," she said, thrusting the food toward me. "Take it. I don't want to see you here again. Now go."

Relief flooded me, so intense that my eyes burned with unshed tears.

"Thank you, ma'am," I whispered, clutching the food tightly. I bowed slightly in gratitude, then turned away, my steps lighter than before.

But as I neared my small space, my heart stopped.

My bag was outside.

Panic clawed at my chest as I rushed forward, my fingers trembling as I reached for the door. Locked.

"What happened?" I muttered under my breath, my stomach twisting with dread.

And then it hit me.

I had been thrown out.