After My Husband Betrayed, I Claimed by the Billionaire

"Sophia. Open your eyes."

The voice was deep, rough with fatigue.

I blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights. White ceiling. The sharp smell of antiseptic stung my nose. The memories crashed into me—Ethan’s hands shoving me, the sharp metal rail, the blood pooling on the tiles.

My hands flew to my stomach.

"The baby?" I croaked.

A doctor in blue scrubs stepped into my line of sight. "You suffered a severe placental abruption, Mrs. Miller. But we managed to stop the bleeding."

Tears blurred my vision. "My baby is alive?"

"Barely," the doctor warned, his expression grave. "Your condition is extremely unstable. One more shock, one more spike in your blood pressure, and you will lose this child. You require absolute bed rest."

I nodded frantically.

"I'll handle the arrangements," a commanding voice said.

I turned my head. Damien sat in a chair by the window. My boss, the flawless CEO of Reed Enterprises, looked wrecked. His tie was gone. His expensive white shirt bore a massive, dried rust-colored stain.

My blood.

"Mr. Reed," I whispered. "You stayed."

"Someone had to," he replied, standing up. "I've already authorized a transfer to the VIP maternity ward. Dr. Evans here is the top specialist in the state. She’ll oversee your care."

"Thank you," I choked out.

I scanned the empty corners of the room. The door remained shut.

"Is he outside?" I asked.

Damien’s jaw tightened. "No."

"Ethan didn't come?"

"I had the hospital staff call him three times," Damien said, his tone icy. "He sent them straight to voicemail."

I needed to hear it from him. He pushed me. He almost killed his own child.

"My phone," I said, pointing to the plastic belongings bag on the tray table.

Damien frowned. "The doctor said no stress."

"Please, Damien. I need to know."

He grabbed the device and handed it to me.

I dialed Ethan’s number. It rang four times.

"Hello?"

A woman’s voice. Light, airy, triumphant.

My grip on the phone tightened. "Chloe. Put Ethan on."

"Sophia! You're awake," Chloe chirped. "I'd hand the phone over, but Ethan is a little busy right now."

"Busy doing what?" I demanded.

"Holding my hand," she said. "We're in the exam room. The doctor is pointing out our son's little toes on the monitor. Ethan is practically in tears."

A sharp pain sliced through my chest.

"He pushed me," I said, my voice trembling. "I was bleeding on the floor, and he left me."

"You tripped, Soph," Chloe corrected, her tone turning cold. "Stop being so dramatic. Ethan was worried sick about me. You know how high-risk my pregnancy is."

"I'm in the hospital, Chloe. I almost lost my baby."

She laughed softly. "Well, maybe you should focus on your little clump of cells and leave my family alone. Ethan is done with you."

The line went dead.

I stared at the black screen. My husband. My best friend. They were laughing at an ultrasound while I lay in a bed soaked in my own blood.

Damien took the phone from my shaking hands.

"He's with her," I whispered, staring blankly at the wall. "He didn't even ask if I was alive."

Damien’s eyes darkened. "He isn't worth your tears, Sophia. Focus on surviving."

A nurse bustled in, pushing a wheelchair. "Time to move you to the VIP suite, Mrs. Miller."

Damien walked beside me the entire way. The new room looked like a luxury hotel. Soft lighting, plush furniture, a massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.

The nurse helped me into the bed and handed me the remote. "Watch some television. Try to relax."

She left the room. Damien stood at the foot of my bed.

"You should go home, Mr. Reed," I said. "You've done enough. I don't know how to repay you."

"You don't owe me anything," he said abruptly. "And call me Damien."

I pressed the power button on the remote. The morning entertainment news flashed onto the screen.

"Last night’s Crystal Charity Gala was full of surprises!" the bubbly anchor announced.

The camera panned across a red carpet.

My heart stopped.

There was Ethan. He wore his tailored black tuxedo—the one I bought him for our anniversary.

He wasn't alone.

Chloe clung to his arm, wearing a stunning silver gown that hugged her five-month baby bump. She smiled brightly for the flashing cameras.

"Real estate mogul Ethan Miller made quite the statement last night," the anchor continued. "Stepping out publicly with his pregnant new partner, Chloe Davis. Sources say Miller plans to finalize his divorce soon to welcome his new heir!"

On the screen, a reporter shoved a microphone toward Ethan.

"Mr. Miller! Are you excited about the baby?"

Ethan grinned, pulling Chloe closer. "I've never been happier. This woman and this child are my entire world."

I muted the TV. The silence in the hospital room was deafening.

He didn't just abandon me. He paraded her around the city while I was bleeding out. He used a major business event to legitimize his affair, knowing the media would eat it up.

My nails dug into my palms. The sadness evaporated, replaced by a burning, furious heat in my veins.

Damien stepped between me and the television, blocking the screen.

"Turn it off, Sophia," he ordered.

"No," I said, my voice steady for the first time since yesterday. "Leave it."

Damien studied my face. The panic from yesterday was gone from his features, replaced by a calculating sharpness.

"You're not crying," he noted.

"I'm done crying." I met his gaze. "He wants to destroy me. He wants to replace me and pretend I never existed."

"He made a public spectacle to force your hand," Damien said, crossing his arms. "If you fight the divorce now, the media will paint you as the bitter, barren wife standing in the way of true love."

"I'm not barren," I fired back, resting a protective hand over my stomach. "And I won't let them win."

Damien leaned over the bed, resting his hands on the mattress. "What do you want to do about it?"

"I want to ruin him," I said.

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Damien's face.

"Good," he murmured. "Because I already drafted the press release."

I blinked, caught off guard. "What press release?"

Damien pulled a folded piece of paper from his suit pocket and dropped it on my lap.

"Read it."

I unfolded the crisp white page. The bold black letters at the top made my stomach drop.