Divorced by the Billionaire, I Came Back With His ‘Heir’

The dining table was set with several dishes I'd prepared myself.

Celine sat across from me, her expression frigid.

Darren ate with exaggerated care, like a child who knew he'd done something wrong, trying not to make a single sound as he chewed.

I let the tip of my foot brush against his calf under the table. He flinched so hard his whole body trembled.

"What's wrong with you?" Celine asked, concern creeping into her voice.

"I think he caught a chill," I said breezily. "A little liquor should warm him up."

I reached to the top of the cabinet and pulled down a half-empty bottle of baijiu, pouring three glasses before anyone could object.

"I didn't know we had liquor in the house." Celine's brows drew together, irritation sharpening her features.

Darren glanced at me, then back at her. "She's pregnant. She shouldn't even smell alcohol."

I raised my glass as if I hadn't heard, tilting it toward Darren in invitation.

"Why don't you just go be with her, then?"

Celine slammed her palm on the table and shot to her feet. In one fluid motion, she grabbed her glass and hurled the liquor into Darren's face, then stormed out, the door crashing shut behind her.

Darren shook the liquid from his hair, droplets scattering across the tablecloth. He looked at me and forced a smile.

"Aren't you going to chase her?" I asked, not bothering to hide my amusement.

"She'll come back once she's cooled down."

The small victory put me in a good mood. I drank more than I should have, and before I knew it, the world had gone soft at the edges. I drifted off on the couch.

When I woke the next morning, Darren was lying beside me.

It was obvious what had happened. He'd taken advantage of me again.

We'd been comrades-in-arms for years, and I was living under his roof now—a guest with no ground to stand on. I had no right to be angry. So I pretended I'd simply overslept, sparing us both the awkwardness.

He didn't offer any explanation either. Just got dressed and left.

That evening at eight, the doorbell rang. I assumed Darren had come back and rushed to answer it, only to find a delivery driver standing there with takeout containers.

The receipt had a note scrawled on it: Staying at my mother-in-law's for a few days. Gotta smooth things over with the wife.

After that, Darren had meals delivered to me three times a day. Every single day.

A little over a month later, my period didn't come.

I dug out a pregnancy test. Two lines. Positive.

I'd been married to Colin for three years without getting pregnant—which was exactly why he'd been using emotional warfare to push me toward divorce.

The doctors had explained it wasn't that I couldn't conceive. My body was simply... particular. My ovaries rejected my husband's sperm like a foreign invader.

I couldn't carry Colin Farley's child. But apparently, I could carry someone else's.

Colin had two mistresses stashed away somewhere, and he was planning to have one of them serve as a surrogate to produce his heir.

If I let his scheme succeed, I'd be left with nothing.

We were talking about a fortune worth billions. Did he really think I'd just walk away from that?

I called Colin immediately and told him I was pregnant too.

"Ha! Really?" He laughed, the sound dripping with mockery. "Whose kid is it?"

"Who else's could it be but yours?"

I'd originally planned to throw it in his face—to let him know that all those years of "failure" weren't my fault. He was the one shooting blanks.

But the words shifted on my tongue, and I changed my mind.

Who cared who the father was? If this child came from my body, it was my child.

And if one little lie could make this baby the heir to a billion-dollar empire? Why wouldn't I tell it?

Like Gao Qiqiang said in that show: The bigger the storm, the more expensive the fish.

That afternoon, the Farley family's driver arrived in a stretched Cadillac to bring me back to the estate.

Colin stood by the fountain, cradling nine hundred and ninety roses, a smile plastered across his face like he'd never done a thing wrong.

"Don't be upset anymore. Come on, smile for me."

The shamelessness was breathtaking.

I lifted my chin and strode into the villa, reclaiming the confidence of the lady of the house.

That evening, Colin arranged an extravagant family dinner.

I wore a stunning evening gown, ready to take my seat at the head of the table—only to have the new housekeeper step in front of me.

"Ma'am," she said, her voice polite but firm, "you can't sit there."