The Billionaire Who Called Me Boring

He was the billionaire who called me "boring" and paid me to disappear. Three years later, Gage Schwartz came back begging, promising me the world he'd denied me for seven years. I took him back, and soon, I was pregnant with his twins.

Then I heard the voicemail of him and his ex-wife, Brylee, laughing about how I was just a "comfortable placeholder."

The shock caused me to miscarry. When I tried to leave, he launched a smear campaign, painting me as insane to the world. Then he locked me in our penthouse.

He thought he could break me.

So I faked a complete mental breakdown, escaped into a blizzard, and vanished. I built a new life, found real love, and became the artist I was always meant to be.

But now, he's standing in my studio.

And he wants me back.

Chapter 1

Carlie Bean POV:

The memory of his voice, cold as a New York winter, telling me I was "boring," still ripped through me, even three years later.

It was the final nail in the coffin of the seven years I' d wasted, seven years of loving Gage Schwartz in the shadows.

He'd paid me off, a hefty sum meant to erase me from his life, to make space for his arranged marriage with Brylee Wagner.

I took the money, not because I wanted it, but because it was the only way out, the only way to pretend I had some control over my own humiliating exit.

Then I vanished.

New York City, with all its glittering promises and crushing realities, was behind me.

Three years passed, a blur of rebuilding, of learning to breathe again without the constant, suffocating pressure of being Gage Schwartz's secret.

Then he reappeared, a ghost from a past I had meticulously buried.

Gage, the billionaire who once dismissed me, now stood before me, divorced, looking utterly broken.

He begged me to return, his eyes wide with a desperate plea I had once longed to see.

He promised me the world, not just wealth, but a lavish wedding, a life in the sun.

He said he regretted everything, that Brylee was a mistake, a volatile passion that had burned itself out.

He swore he had changed, that he understood now what he had lost.

I wanted to believe him.

Part of me, the naive, hopeful part that had never quite died, desperately wanted to believe that the man I once loved was truly back.

So, I let myself hope.

I let him shower me with every luxury, every grand gesture he had withheld for so long.

The wedding was magnificent, a spectacle worthy of a king and his queen, or rather, a billionaire and the woman he had finally chosen to put on display.

Everything felt perfect, almost too perfect, like a dream I was terrified to wake from.

Then came the twins, a double blessing, a symbol of our new beginning, our future.

I was pregnant, glowing, filled with a joy I thought I'd never experience again.

I was finally happy, truly happy, for the first time in forever.

One evening, I found myself alone in his study, a room I rarely entered, but needed a quiet place to organize some baby things.

A faint buzz from Gage' s phone on his desk caught my attention.

It wasn' t a text, but a notification for an old voicemail, something I hadn't realized he still used.

Curiosity, a dangerous thing, tugged at me.

I picked it up, my fingers brushing against the cold metal.

The voicemail was from Brylee.

Her voice, syrupy sweet, then sharp as a broken glass, filled the silent room.

"Gage, darling, I know you're busy playing house with... what's her name? Carlie?

But don't forget our little arrangement.

Our nights, those secret fires we ignite, they mean more than her quiet little life ever could.

Remember what you said about her, how she's just... comfortable?

A placeholder until the real fun begins again?"

My breath hitched, a strangled sound caught in my throat.

Then I heard Gage's voice, not from a dream, but from the recording.

His laugh, a low rumble, followed by a whispered, "You always know how to make me feel alive, Brylee.

She just... she keeps things stable.

But you, you're the thrill, the passion I can't live without."

The words sliced through me, colder and sharper than any blade.

My hand trembled, the phone slipping, but I caught it, my grip tight, desperate.

I heard the rustle of sheets, Brylee's sultry moan, and then Gage's voice again, thick with desire.

"God, Brylee, you drive me wild. No one else can touch me like this."

The world tilted.

My stomach churned, a sudden, violent wave of nausea washing over me.

My vision blurred, spots dancing before my eyes.

It wasn't just the morning sickness.

It was the sickness in my soul.

The betrayal, raw and excruciating, ripped through me, tearing apart the fragile peace I had built.

I squeezed my eyes shut, a futile attempt to block out the sounds, the images.

But they were seared into my mind, a branding iron of deceit.

Every kind word, every tender touch, every grand gesture from Gage now felt like a lie, a performance.

He had promised me forever, a fresh start, unconditional love.

He had promised to protect me, to cherish me.

But he was still playing the same old games, with the same old woman.

My past, his present, his future.

My future, shattered, again.

My hands flew to my belly, protecting the tiny lives growing within me.

Twins. His children.

And he was still with her.

The rage, cold and quiet, began to simmer beneath the surface of my despair.

He thought I was boring?

He thought I was just "comfortable"?

He thought he could have his cake and eat it too?

He was wrong.

I wouldn't be comfortable anymore.

I wouldn't be a secret.

And I wouldn't be his.

Carlie Bean POV:

I sat there, the phone still clutched in my hand, the ghost of Brylee's voice echoing in the silent room.

The nausea intensified, a bitter taste rising in my throat.

My head spun, a dizzying whirlwind of disbelief and pain.

It was a physical manifestation of the emotional assault.

My body, already fragile with the demands of new life, rebelled against the shock.

I remembered Gage's words from years ago, how he'd called me "tame" compared to Brylee's "fire."

He'd said Brylee was the "excitement" he craved.

He'd promised he'd changed, that he valued stability now, valued me.

But it was all a lie, a carefully constructed illusion to lure me back into his gilded cage.

His deep, resonant voice, filled with such tenderness when he spoke to me, was capable of such venom, such casual cruelty, when describing me to his mistress.

The word "comfortable" stung more than any insult.

It stripped me of all passion, all desirability, reducing me to a convenient fixture, a warm body, a mother for his heirs.

The thought of his touch, his kisses, after hearing that recording, made my skin crawl.

Every "I love you" he had whispered felt like a betrayal before it even left his lips.

The irony was a cruel twist of the knife.

He had returned, begging, promising the world, and I, fool that I was, had believed him.

I had let down my guard, opened my heart, and invited him back in, only for him to stab me again, deeper this time.

But this time, it was different.

This time, there were tiny heartbeats fluttering within me, fragile and innocent.

They deserved better than a father who lied, a father who was still entangled with a woman who actively mocked their mother.

A fierce, protective instinct ignited within me, burning away the last vestiges of my naive hope.

No. Not this time.

This time, I would not be the quiet, forgiving Carlie Bean.

I would not be the "comfortable" wife.

I would be free.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady my racing heart.

My hands, still trembling, slowly lowered the phone.

The decision solidified in my mind, cold and clear as ice.

I had to leave. For good.

And this time, there would be no going back.

I heard the front door open, Gage's familiar footsteps in the foyer.

My stomach clenched, but my resolve hardened.

This conversation would be short, brutal, and definitive.

He walked into the study, a smile on his face, a bottle of champagne in his hand.

"Celebrating our future, my love," he said, oblivious, his eyes shining.

He saw the phone in my hand, the screen still dimly lit.

His smile faltered, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

"Carlie? What are you doing with my phone?" he asked, his voice losing its warmth.

"I heard it," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion.

The smile vanished. His face paled.

"Heard what?" he stammered, trying to sound innocent.

"Everything," I replied, my gaze unwavering, pinning him with the full weight of his deception.

His eyes darted away, a tell-tale sign of guilt.

He opened his mouth, probably to lie, to deny, to charm his way out of it.

But before he could say a word, his phone buzzed again.

Another text. From Brylee.

He glanced down, his face a mask of conflict.

"It can wait," I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

"No, it can't," he muttered, already reaching for the phone.

"She always comes first, doesn't she?" I asked, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.

He ignored me, his thumb already flying across the screen.

He looked up, his eyes wide, a sudden panic in them.

"I have to go," he said, his voice rushed. "Brylee's in trouble."

"Of course," I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

He didn't even look back as he ran out of the room, leaving me standing there, shattered amidst the ruins of our supposed new beginning.

I heard the roar of his car engine, speeding away.

My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor, the cold marble unforgiving beneath me.

A sharp pain shot through my lower abdomen.

Then another, and another.

My vision swam, and a wave of dizziness overcame me.

I gripped my stomach, a desperate plea forming on my lips.

Not the babies. Please, not the babies.

But the pain intensified, a searing fire spreading through my core.

Panic clawed at my throat.

I tried to call out, but no sound came, only a choked gasp.

The last thing I saw before the darkness consumed me was the champagne bottle, still upright on the desk, a mocking symbol of the future that was never meant to be.

Carlie Bean POV:

The world swam back into focus, a blurry kaleidoscope of white and sterile smells.

I heard hushed voices, the rhythmic beep of machines.

My head throbbed, a dull ache behind my eyes.

"She's waking up," a soft voice murmured.

A kind face, framed by dark hair and gentle eyes, peered down at me.

A nurse.

"Where... where am I?" I croaked, my throat dry and raw.

"You're in the hospital, dear," she said, her voice soothing. "You had a bit of a scare."

A scare. That was an understatement.

Then it all came flooding back: the voicemail, Gage's lies, his hurried exit, the pain.

The babies. My hands flew to my stomach, a frantic search for the familiar swell.

It was flat. Terrifyingly flat.

The nurse's face softened, a look of profound sadness shadowing her features.

"I'm so sorry, dear," she whispered, her hand gently covering mine. "We did everything we could."

My heart shattered, again.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent.

The twins. Gone.

The last, fragile thread connecting me to Gage, severed.

But even through the overwhelming grief, a strange sense of clarity emerged.

They were gone because of him, because of his betrayal, his callous disregard.

He had taken everything from me.

My trust, my future, my babies.

There was nothing left to lose.

Nothing left for him to take.

The door creaked open, and Gage strode in, his face etched with concern, but also a hint of impatience.

He rushed to my bedside, his hand reaching for mine.

I flinched away, my gaze cold.

"Carlie, my love," he began, his voice laced with forced tenderness. "I rushed back as soon as I heard. What happened?"

His concern felt like a performance, a cruel mockery of what I had just lost.

"Don't," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, but sharp enough to cut.

He paused, his hand hovering in the air.

"Don't what, Carlie?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"Don't pretend," I replied, my gaze burning into him. "Don't pretend you care."

He recoiled as if I had struck him.

"Of course, I care! You're my wife! And... and the babies..." His voice trailed off, a flicker of genuine sadness in his eyes.

But it was too late.

The words were hollow, meaningless.

"They're gone, Gage," I said, the truth a bitter pill. "Because of you."

His face drained of color.

"What are you talking about?" he stammered, his eyes wide with a confusion that actually seemed real.

"I heard the voicemail," I repeated, my voice stronger now. "Brylee. Your 'passion.' Your 'thrill.' And me? Just 'comfortable.' Just a 'placeholder'."

The words hung in the air, heavy with accusation.

He sank into the chair beside my bed, his head in his hands.

"Carlie, I can explain," he mumbled, his voice muffled.

"There's nothing to explain," I said, my voice cold as ice. "It's over, Gage. For good this time."

He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed, a flicker of panic in them.

"No," he said, his voice pleading. "Please, Carlie. Don't say that. We can fix this. I'll break it off with Brylee, completely. I swear."

"You swore before," I reminded him, a mirthless laugh escaping my lips. "And what happened? You ran to her the moment she called, leaving me here, bleeding, losing our children."

The words hung in the air, a punch to his gut.

He looked away, unable to meet my gaze.

"I'll give you anything," he said, desperate now. "Anything you want. More money, a new house, anything."

"I don't want your money, Gage," I said, my voice filled with a finality that shook even me. "I want my life back. The one you stole, twice."

A nurse entered the room, her voice soft but firm.

"Mr. Schwartz, visiting hours are over. Mrs. Schwartz needs her rest."

Gage glared at her, but she stood her ground.

He turned back to me, his eyes pleading.

"Carlie, please. Think about this. Don't make any rash decisions."

"The decision has been made," I said, my voice steady. "I'm divorcing you, Gage."

His jaw dropped, but no words came out.

"And," I continued, a cold satisfaction spreading through me, "I'm leaving. New York. You. Everything."

He stared at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

He thought he had me, didn't he?

He thought I would always come back, always forgive, always be his "comfortable" Carlie.

He was wrong. So wrong.

He tried to say something, but the nurse gently, but firmly, ushered him out of the room.

He disappeared, leaving me alone in the quiet of the hospital room.

Alone, but free.

The pain in my heart was still immense, a black hole of grief.

But beneath it, a tiny spark of something new ignited.

Freedom.

I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping, not of sorrow, but of a fierce, unyielding resolve.