Divorced Wife's Secret Twins: Billionaire's Regret

Aubree's fingers shook so violently that the crisp edges of the ultrasound paper sliced the pad of her index finger.

She didn't feel the sting. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, bruising rhythm. She shoved the paper-the one clearly stamped with the words Twin Gestation-deep into the hidden lining of her cheap canvas tote bag.

The electronic lock on the heavy oak door emitted a sharp, ice-cold beep.

The door of the Manhattan penthouse was shoved open. A bitter gust of late autumn wind swept into the entryway, carrying the scent of rain and expensive cologne.

Ell Steele stepped inside. His dark gray bespoke suit clung to his broad shoulders, making his sharp, unforgiving jawline look even more brutal. His eyes, dark and heavy with authority, pinned her to the spot.

Aubree's stomach twisted. Out of pure, pathetic habit, she forced a welcoming smile and stepped forward, reaching out to take his damp suit jacket.

Ell shifted his weight, dodging her hands with a look of pure disgust.

Mr. Vance, Ell's gold-tier corporate lawyer, stepped out from behind him. The man marched straight to the black marble kitchen island and slammed two thick stacks of legal documents onto the surface. The loud smack echoed off the high ceilings.

Aubree's gaze dropped to the top page.

Pregnancy Termination Consent Form.

The bold black letters punched the air out of her lungs. The blood in her veins turned to ice.

Ell yanked at his silk tie, loosening it with a harsh tug. He towered over her, his voice devoid of a single ounce of human warmth.

"You stopped taking the pills on purpose. Did you really think you could use a parasite to extort a share of the Steele family trust?"

"No," Aubree choked out, shaking her head frantically. "Ell, it was an accident. I swear-"

Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she dug her nails into her palms, refusing to let them fall.

Ell let out a low, scraping laugh. He lunged forward, his large hand clamping around her jaw. His grip was a vise, forcing her to look up into eyes that held nothing but absolute loathing.

"A nobody like you," he spat, the words hitting her face like physical blows. "You aren't even fit to carry Georgina's shoes. What makes you think you are fit to carry my heir?"

Georgina.

The name ripped through Aubree's chest like a serrated blade. The last flicker of hope in her eyes died, replaced by a hollow, agonizing ache.

Mr. Vance stepped forward, holding out a heavy Montblanc pen. His voice was entirely mechanical. "Sign the medical consent form and the non-disclosure divorce agreement, Ms. Daniels. You will receive a compensation check for five million dollars."

A violent wave of nausea crashed into Aubree's stomach.

She shoved Ell's chest with both hands, breaking his grip. She stumbled backward, slapping a hand over her mouth as her stomach violently contracted. She swallowed down the bile, her throat burning.

Ell watched her heave. His upper lip curled in a sneer. "Save the acting. It won't get you a higher payout."

Aubree sucked in a ragged breath of air. She forced her spine straight, her muscles trembling under the effort. She stared at the termination paper.

She made her choice.

She snatched the pen from Vance's hand. Without a single second of hesitation, she flipped to the signature page of the divorce NDA and signed her name. She pressed down so hard the gold nib tore through the thick parchment.

Ell's eyes widened a fraction. His brow furrowed in sudden, jarring confusion.

Aubree grabbed the unsigned abortion consent form and the five-million-dollar check. She threw them directly at Mr. Vance's chest. The papers fluttered to the floor like dead leaves.

She met Ell's shocked stare. Her voice was raw, scraped hollow by the acid in her throat, but it did not shake.

"I will roll out of your life exactly as you wish. But I will handle the baby myself. Keep your filthy money."

Ell's jaw clenched. The veins in his neck bulged. He closed the distance between them in one stride and grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging into her fragile bones.

"What kind of game are you playing?" he snarled.

Aubree gasped at the sharp pain, but she didn't pull away. She tilted her chin up, a cold, mocking smile touching her pale lips.

"You're a coward who can't even let go of a dead woman. You don't deserve to be a father."

The words hit his deepest, rawest nerve.

Ell's face darkened to a thunderous storm. He violently shoved her arm away.

Aubree lost her footing. She fell backward, her lower back slamming hard against the sharp edge of the marble island.

A blinding flash of pain shot through her spine. She gasped, her hands instinctively flying to cover her flat stomach, curling her body inward to absorb the shock.

Ell didn't even blink. He stood over her, his voice a lethal whisper.

"Pack your trash and get out of my apartment tonight. And tomorrow at the office, do not cross the line."

He turned on his heel and walked out. The heavy front door slammed shut behind him, the force of it making the crystal chandelier above vibrate.

The silence in the apartment was deafening.

Aubree's knees gave out. She slid down the cold marble cabinets, collapsing onto the hardwood floor. The tears finally broke free, hot and silent, tracking down her cheeks.

Her trembling hands reached into her bag. She pulled out the crumpled ultrasound paper. She buried her face in her knees, wrapping her arms tightly around her stomach.

I will protect you both. I swear it.

Her phone screen lit up on the floor. A text message from the hospital billing department flashed. It was a massive, six-figure overdue notice for her adoptive mother's ICU life support.

The red numbers burned her retinas.

Aubree wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. The tears stopped. The warmth in her eyes vanished, replaced by a layer of frost.

She couldn't quit the company. She needed the Steele Group's executive health insurance to keep her mother breathing.

She pushed herself off the floor. She picked up her copy of the signed divorce agreement, shoved it into her bag, and walked toward the walk-in closet.

Tomorrow, she would walk into hell.