Pregnant And Divorced: The Prodigy's Return

Julian Carlisle had a two-year-old illegitimate son.

Kathryn Price stared at the glowing screen of her phone in the freezing, dimly lit mourning hall. It was the height of summer, yet she felt as if she had been plunged into an ice pit.

The video was sent by Chloe Sterling, Julian's "official" public girlfriend and the untouchable ideal of his heart.

In the shaky footage, Julian was sitting on a sunlit park bench, holding a little boy. Chloe sat beside them, her coy laughter echoing in the background. They looked exactly like a picture-perfect family, their happiness practically bleeding through the screen.

Julian's face, usually a mask of cold, flawless indifference when he was with Kathryn, was now entirely softened. He was smiling at the boy-a look of pure, unadulterated devotion that Kathryn had never once seen in their three years of marriage.

And the boy... he had the exact same ice-blue eyes and sharp jawline as Julian.

Kathryn's hands trembled violently. Just as she pressed her thumb down to save the video, the screen flashed.

Message Recalled.

Before Kathryn's numb brain could process it, another image popped up. A DNA Paternity Test Report. The bold letters at the bottom screamed at her: The probability of paternity between Julian Carlisle and Leo Sterling is 99.999%.

So, they really were father and son.

Then, another message from Chloe popped up: "Oops, sent to the wrong person. Please don't tell Julian I bothered you, Kathryn!"

A second later-Message Recalled.

Kathryn's lips twitched in a bitter, mocking smile. She didn't understand why Chloe was playing these pathetic psychological games, but the nausea churning in her stomach was real.

She knelt before her mother's portrait, her heart entirely hollowed out.

She and Julian had been married for three years. It was a well-hidden secret. He had only started sharing a bed with her this past month. How utterly laughable that his son with another woman was already running around.

No wonder Julian flatly refused to attend her mother's funeral, citing a "critical business acquisition." So, his "critical business" was playing the doting father in the park. Even after a month of their intense, breathless nights together, she meant absolutely nothing to him.

Fine, Kathryn thought, her heart turning to ash. With Mom gone, this grotesque transaction of a marriage is finally over.

Her legs were completely numb. As she tried to stand, her vision went black, and she stumbled forward.

Before she could hit the cold floor, a strong, muscular arm wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her flush against a firm chest.

"Careful."

Kathryn lifted her tear-stained eyes and met a gaze she hadn't seen in three years. "Alistair? You're... you're okay?"

Her step-brother, Alistair Montgomery, looked down at her, his dark eyes swirling with complex, heavy emotions. "Did you wish I wasn't?"

His grip on her waist tightened, almost possessively. "Why didn't you wait for me, Katie? I told you when I was eighteen that I was going to marry you."

Kathryn pushed against his chest, stepping back. "I'm already married. And I've never thought of you as anything but a brother."

Alistair's jaw clenched, a flash of anger crossing his handsome face. "Julian Carlisle has never publicly acknowledged you. Why are you hanging yourself on a dead tree?"

Kathryn looked up, mildly shocked. "How did you know I married him?"

Their marriage was strictly under the radar.

"Mom's medical bills over the past three years cost over ten million. You didn't have that kind of money," Alistair said, his voice dropping an octave. "And she was staying in a private hospital funded by Carlisle Investments. Do you really think I couldn't guess?"

Kathryn let out a long, exhausted sigh. "It's true. I sold myself to him for the money."

Hearing her admit it, a twisted glint of satisfaction flashed in Alistair's eyes. "If you want a divorce, I have the best lawyers. Three years ago, you secretly injected three million into my dying company. I've turned it around, Katie. You don't have to suffer under him anymore."

Alistair was the son her mother's second husband had brought into the family. He had protected her fiercely since childhood and confessed his feelings more than once, but to her, he was just family.

Kathryn nodded, her voice eerily calm. "Okay. Have your lawyers draft the papers. If he agrees, we part peacefully. If not, I'll see him in court."

Alistair stayed by her side, acting as her pillar through the rest of the grueling funeral rites.

Just as the burial was concluding, her elderly Grandmother approached, leaning heavily on her cane.

She grabbed Kathryn's cold hand, her eyes pleading. "Katie, you must call your husband. You are a married woman now; it's an absolute disgrace if he doesn't show his face at his mother-in-law's funeral. Call him. Please, even if Nana has to beg you."

Kathryn stood frozen, staring at the phone in her hand.

"Katie, please... call him," the old woman begged, her voice cracking. "I just buried my daughter. Let me at least hear your husband's voice. Let me know you have someone to protect you when I'm gone."

Every word felt like a dull knife sawing at Kathryn's heart. Suffocating under her grandmother's pleading gaze, she dialed Julian's number.

It rang only once before his voice cut through the line-icy, impatient, and utterly devoid of warmth. "What is it?"

Kathryn swallowed the lump tasting of blood in her throat. "My mother was just buried. Can you... can you just come for ten minutes? For my grandmother's sake?"

"I'm busy," Julian rejected flatly, without a second of hesitation. "I have a crucial social engagement."

Suddenly, a woman's voice chimed in from his end, sweet, cloying, and deliberately loud enough to be heard over the speaker. "Julian, darling! The drone show is about to start, come look!"

It was Chloe.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Julian hung up. He didn't even bother to explain.

A wave of sheer, visceral nausea hit Kathryn. The world tilted violently. The gray tombstones spun into a blur, and her knees buckled.

Before she hit the muddy grass, Alistair's strong arms caught her. He pulled her against his chest, his dark eyes burning with a mix of fury and heartbreak. "Katie! Are you okay?"

Kathryn stared blankly at the dark screen of her phone. A crucial social engagement.

That night, she didn't even need to look for it. The news was shoved into her face by every major media outlet in the city.

"Billionaire Julian Carlisle Lights Up the Sky! 1,000 Drones Spell 'Happy Birthday Chloe'!"

Kathryn sat in the dark, staring at the viral video. Thousands of drones formed a massive, glowing heart over the city skyline.

While she was standing in the freezing rain burying the woman who gave her life, her husband was throwing a multi-million-dollar spectacle for his mistress.

The tears she had been crying for days suddenly stopped. What replaced the grief was a freezing, absolute hatred. Julian Carlisle, from this second on, you are dead to me.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Chloe. Attached was a photo of Julian's distinct, elegant hands cutting a massive custom cake, his body leaning intimately against Chloe's.

Then came the text: [He wouldn't even spare a minute for your dead mother, but he spent the whole day making sure my birthday was perfect. Kathryn, you're not a wife. You're just a pathetic joke.]

Instead of crying, Kathryn let out a chilling laugh. Her fingers flew across the screen, typing out a response dripping with venom: [And yet, I'm the one with the marriage certificate. You've been raising his bastard son for years, and he still won't give you a ring. Tell me, Chloe, how does it feel to be a glorified, unpaid nanny?]

Chloe didn't reply. Instead, she quickly recalled her own message. Kathryn's eyelid twitched in pure disgust at the woman's cowardly, manipulative games.

An hour later, Kathryn pushed open the heavy doors of the Carlisle mansion.

Julian was sitting on the leather sofa, dressed in a deep-V silk shirt that perfectly accentuated his broad shoulders and flawless physique. He was sipping whiskey, looking like a god who had just descended from a glorious party.

He glanced at the grandfather clock, then at Kathryn's pale face and black mourning dress.

"The funeral is over?" he asked, his tone as casual as if he were asking about the weather.

"Yes," Kathryn said, her voice dead.

Julian set his glass down. He picked up an exquisite velvet box from the coffee table and held it out to her. Inside was a diamond-encrusted Patek Philippe watch.

"My condolences," Julian said, his expression completely blank. "I had my reasons for not being there. I was occupied with important matters."

Kathryn stared at the blinding diamonds. He was trying to buy off her mother's death with a watch.

"Important matters?" Kathryn sneered, her voice trembling with pure rage. "You mean lighting up the sky for your mistress? I saw the news, Julian."

Julian's handsome face darkened. He hated being questioned. "Kathryn, don't be hysterical. It was a PR stunt for the company. It's not what you think."

"Not what I think?" Kathryn let out a sharp, mocking laugh that echoed in the massive room.

She reached into her bag, pulled out a stack of papers, and slammed them directly against his chest. The papers scattered, fluttering down onto the glass table.

Right on top was the bold, undeniable text: Probability of Paternity between Julian Carlisle and Leo Sterling is 99.999%.

Julian's gaze dropped to the paper. For the first time in three years, the mask of perfect indifference on his face completely shattered. His ice-blue eyes widened, a storm brewing instantly within them.

Before he could utter a single word, Kathryn looked him dead in the eye, her voice cold enough to freeze hell over.

"Keep your watch, keep your lies, and keep your bastard son. I'm filing for divorce."

Julian didn't stay. Right after Kathryn slammed the paternity test on his chest, his phone rang again. It was Chloe, crying that little Leo had a high fever. Without a second of hesitation, Julian turned and walked out the door, leaving Kathryn alone in the massive, suffocating mansion.

Ten minutes later, Kathryn's phone buzzed. It was a video from Chloe.

In the video, Julian was sitting on a hospital bed. The cold, ruthless CEO of Carlisle Investments was currently holding a little boy with a wet towel on his forehead, his voice softer than Kathryn had ever heard it. "Don't cry, Leo. Daddy's right here."

Then came Chloe's message: [Leo was just a little sick, and Julian rushed over in a panic. He really is the best father. Have you signed the divorce papers yet, Kathryn?]

A second later, the message was recalled.

Kathryn's eyes were completely dry. She didn't feel like crying anymore; she only felt utterly, thoroughly disgusted. She calmly opened her screen recordings, saving the video as concrete evidence for the divorce, and forwarded it to her brother, Alistair.

She then printed out the divorce agreement she had drafted earlier. She signed her name at the bottom-Kathryn Price-agreeing to walk away with absolutely nothing. She didn't want a single penny of Julian's dirty money.

Leaving the papers on the dining table, she blocked Julian's number on everything, grabbed the suitcase she had packed, and walked out of the Carlisle estate without looking back.

She went straight to her best friend Olivia's downtown apartment.

When Olivia heard what happened, she was so furious she almost smashed a vase. "That ungrateful bastard! I'm taking you out, Katie. We are going to the most expensive restaurant in this city, and we are celebrating your freedom!"

An hour later, they arrived at Le Bernardin, an exclusive Michelin-starred restaurant.

But fate, it seemed, had a sick sense of humor. Just as the hostess was leading them to their table, Kathryn froze.

Walking out of the VIP room was Julian. In his arms was the little boy, Leo. Clinging intimately to his arm was Chloe, wearing a dazzling diamond necklace that Julian had likely bought her for her birthday.

They looked like a picture-perfect, billionaire family.

Chloe spotted Kathryn instantly. A flash of malicious triumph crossed her eyes before she put on a mask of innocent surprise.

"Kathryn? What a coincidence!" Chloe practically dragged Julian over, raising her voice just enough to draw the attention of the surrounding elite guests. "Julian was just saying Leo felt better, so he brought us out to celebrate. Are you here alone? It's so sad to eat by yourself."

Olivia was about to lunge forward and slap the fake smile off Chloe's face, but Kathryn grabbed her wrist, holding her back.

Julian's deep, ice-blue eyes locked onto Kathryn. He saw her suitcase in the lobby. His perfectly sculpted brows furrowed in intense displeasure. In his mind, Kathryn was just throwing another dramatic tantrum to get his attention.

"Kathryn, enough is enough," Julian said, his voice dripping with condescending authority. "Stop playing these childish games. Go home. We will talk when I get back."

Go home?

Kathryn looked at the man she had served like a slave for three years, and a chilling, breathtaking smile bloomed on her face.

"I don't have a home with you anymore, Julian," Kathryn said, her voice crystal clear and ringing through the quiet restaurant. She didn't scream; she didn't cry. Her absolute calmness was terrifying.

She looked directly at Chloe, then back to Julian. "The divorce agreement is on the dining table. I'm leaving with nothing, so it should be a very quick process. Sign it, so you can finally give your mistress and your bastard son a proper title."

The entire restaurant went dead silent. Gasps echoed from the nearby tables.

Julian's handsome face instantly turned ashen, a storm of disbelief and fury igniting in his eyes. He had never, in three years, seen Kathryn speak to him with such icy disdain.

"You-"

"Have a wonderful dinner, Mr. Carlisle," Kathryn cut him off smoothly.

Without giving him a chance to respond, she turned her back on the "perfect family," linked arms with Olivia, and walked out of the restaurant with her head held high, leaving Julian standing there, frozen and burning with a sudden, inexplicable panic.