My Accidental Billionaire husband

Katia

I stood on the cold pavement, the wind creeping under the thin silk of my robe as if it were laughing at me. The gate of my parents' mansion, the same house I grew up in, the same house that now stood silently behind me like it had already disowned me-remained closed, its heavy black bars glinting in the morning light. I stared at them for a long moment, not because I wanted to go back inside, but because I needed to remind myself that I was really out. This wasn't a scene or a scare tactic. I had been thrown out of my home like a broken toy, barefoot, pregnant, and wearing nothing but the robe I slept in.

But the mistake they made was thinking I had nowhere to go.

I slipped my hand into the hidden pocket on the inside of the robe, feeling the familiar chill of the encrypted phone I kept for racing, business, and everything I didn't want my mother involved in. My fingers moved on their own, pressing the icon I knew by heart. It rang twice before she picked up.

"Miss Kingston," Sam's voice came through, sharp as ever.

I didn't even know how to start. "Sam, I need you to pick me up. Now."

There was no pause. "Where are you?"

"Outside the mansion. Just me, my robe, and whatever dignity I've got left."

Sam didn't ask why. She didn't question what had happened or why I was calling her sounding like I'd been hit by a freight train. That's why she was still my assistant, my fixer, my only consistent human contact outside of racing. She got things done; no commentary needed.

"Fifteen minutes," she said, then hung up.

I stood there, arms wrapped around myself, waiting for the world to spin a little slower. My stomach was cramping slightly, and the soreness between my legs reminded me again of everything that had happened, or not happened, because honestly, I still couldn't remember half of it. I tried to take deep breaths, but they felt shallow, stuck in my throat. The front gate stayed closed behind me. Not even a curtain twitched in the windows. They didn't just want me out; they wanted me gone.

Fourteen minutes later, the matte black Rolls Royce pulled into the circle driveway like it owned the road. Sam stepped out from the driver's side in all black, her cropped hair slicked back, sunglasses hiding her eyes, and a cool, neutral expression on her face. She had always looked like she belonged more to a high-stakes intelligence agency than to my personal affairs, and right now, I was glad for it.

She popped the door open without saying a word, and I climbed in, pulling the robe tighter around me as the smell of leather and quiet power wrapped around me like a better version of home.

As she pulled out onto the street, she finally glanced over at me. "So..."

"I got kicked out," I said, voice flat. "Pregnancy doesn't fit the family aesthetic."

"I figured," Sam replied calmly. "You still have the ring?"

I nodded, holding up my left hand briefly before dropping it back into my lap.

"I couldn't find you an apartment on such short notice," she said, not missing a beat. "But I booked you a suite at the Vanté Hotel. Top floor, private entrance, 24/7 concierge, no press access. It'll keep you under the radar for now."

"Good," I said, pressing my forehead to the cool window. "How long can I stay there?"

"As long as you want. You paid for six months in advance."

I turned my head slowly. "I did?"

Sam shrugged one shoulder. "I figured we'd get here eventually."

I almost laughed. "You really don't miss, do you?"

"Not if I can help it."

We drove in silence for a while, the city moving around us as if I weren't sitting in the back of a luxury vehicle with my whole life flipped upside down. The farther we got from the house, the easier it was to breathe. My hands stopped shaking. My chest stopped burning. But the weight in my stomach, the not-so-subtle reminder of the baby inside me, stayed.

Sam parked the car in the private garage under the Vanté, scanned her ID, and led me up a secure elevator to the penthouse suite. The second the doors opened, I felt my lungs expand. Hardwood floors, floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city, a kitchen bigger than the one at the mansion, and a king-sized bed I could finally collapse into without hearing my mother screaming in the hallway. For a second, I just stood there and let it all sink in.

"I'll have your clothes and personal items brought in by morning," Sam said, tapping her phone. "Do you want the full team back in place?"

I looked at her. "Yeah. All of them. I'm racing."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I'm racing, Sam."

She crossed her arms. "You're pregnant."

"Still racing."

"Do you even hear yourself right now?"

"Do you hear me?" I said, more sharply than intended. "This is how I survive. This is how I work through shit. I can't just sit around waiting for life to fall back together. It doesn't work that way. I need to move."

"You could... get hurt, Kat. You have millions in your account; you can survive more than 5 years and still pay the team. Racing, no, you hurt yourself or the baby."

"I could get hurt walking down the street. I could get hurt sitting on my ass doing nothing while the rest of the world moves on without me. I'm not fragile. I'm not helpless. I'm just-" I cut myself off and sat on the edge of the bed. "I need to do something."

Sam stared at me for a long moment, then walked over and sat in the chair across from me. "Okay. You're the boss. You want races; I'll get them. I can line up three back-to-back by next week. But you need to tell me what the plan is."

"The plan is this," I said, exhaling. "I race. I race every damn day if I have to. Three months, non-stop. You have three months to make sure everything is stable-housing, new identity files, account protection, media suppression, and business management. I don't want the Windsors tracking me, and I sure as hell don't want my parents getting any closer."

"Understood. And the pregnancy?"

I looked down. "I keep it quiet. Until I can't. If I start to show, I'll wear baggy gear. The helmet stays on. I'll deal with the rest when I get there."

"And what if you get sick during a race?"

"I won't."

"And if you do?"

"Then I pull off the track, and we figure it out."

Sam nodded. "You're really not going to tell me who the father is?"

I looked out the window, the city lights flickering like stars I couldn't reach. "I can't tell you what I don't know."

She didn't flinch or pry. She just tapped her phone and stood. "All right. The first race is in two days. Nevada circuit. Closed entry, six-figure prize. I'll email you the rest."

I stood and walked toward the window, arms crossed over my chest. "Thanks, Sam."

She paused at the door. "I don't care how this looks, Katia. You're not alone in this."

The door shut behind her, and the silence that followed felt... different. Not empty. Just quiet. Just mine.

I was still wearing the ring. I was still carrying someone's baby. But for the first time in days, I wasn't scared; I was free.