Pregnant and Married to a Billionaire, My Ex Cries in Regret!

Smack!

Before I could react, Michael slapped and shoved me to the ground.

The cold tiles sent an icy chill deep into my bones and a sharp pain shot through my twisted ankle, making me gasp. My hands instinctively flew to my belly and only after confirming the baby was fine did I breathe a sigh of relief.

Before I could say a word, Michael wrapped his arm around Patricia and strode off without a second glance. His parting words were as cutting as ever, “Still pretending to have stomach pain? That act is getting old.”

Watching their intertwined figures fade into the distance, I couldn’t help but remember how it had been three years ago.

I’d been doubled over in pain during my period, complaining about why we had to spend our honeymoon in a war-torn country. Patricia chimed in, calling me dramatic and Michael, without hesitation, abandoned me there. With Patricia on his arm, he left without looking back.

Three years passed without a single word from him. And now, at our first meeting, he demanded I admit fault and apologize.

A kind stranger helped me to my feet, their concern evident as they assisted me to get checked out at the hospital.

After thanking them, I hailed a cab and returned to the home I hadn’t seen in years.

After a quick clean-up, I excitedly shared the results of my pregnancy checkup on social media. My husband, Alex Kinght, replied almost instantly, thrilled, promising he’d be home soon to celebrate with me.

Just as I was about to fall asleep, Michael suddenly started bombarding me with phone calls.

The moment I picked up, his aggressive tone came through loud and clear. “Sherry, what’s the meaning of this? Are you trying to force me into marriage with that post on your feed?”

“Let me warn you, pulling such a cheap stunt after three years—be careful, or I’ll really cancel the engagement!”

I adjusted my pillow, already annoyed and replied calmly, “This has nothing to do with you.”

Michael’s tone turned icier. “Still playing hard to get, huh? Now all our mutual friends are messaging me, asking how you ended up pregnant. What do you want me to say to them?”

I turned off the lights, my voice indifferent. “Don’t explain anything. Like I said, this has nothing to do with you.”

Then I hung up without hesitation.

Beep, beep, beep.

Michael’s calls came relentlessly, the constant ringing drilling into my nerves. Exasperated, I blocked his number, tossed my phone aside and finally managed to drift off to sleep.

The next morning, I woke to find my other social media accounts swamped with messages from him, each more infuriating than the last.

“Sherry, you’ve gotten bold, haven’t you? Hanging up on me now?”

“Let me warn you—this little hard-to-get game of yours better end. If I cancel the engagement, don’t come running back, crying for forgiveness!”

"What's wrong with you? Take me off your blocklist immediately!"

So noisy. I blocked him everywhere.

Bam, bam, bam!

Someone was pounding on my door.

When I opened it, there stood Michael, furious.

"Why did you block me?"

The man before me looked disheveled, far from his usual polished self, as though he hadn’t slept all night.

I racked my brain, trying to figure out what I could have done to wrong him, before cautiously asking, "Why are you here? What do you want?"

His anger flared even more. He grabbed my wrist in a tight grip, towering over me as he barked his demands.

"Unblock me right now! And go apologize to Patty! You scared her so badly yesterday that her depression has flared up again. You OWE it to her to fix this!"

Ah, of course. This was about placating his precious Patricia again.

I replied calmly, my tone devoid of emotion, "Tomorrow is my mother’s death anniversary. I came back to collect her past belongings."

"After that, I’ll never return. I’ll be out of your lives for good. You can tell Patricia that—she’ll be thrilled."

I thought my words would soothe Patricia, but to my surprise, Michael’s expression darkened, his face twisting with anger.

"What nonsense are you spouting? You’re still being passive-aggressive!"

For heaven’s sake, I was being completely sincere.

Massaging my temples, I sighed, unwilling to argue further. "Go home, Michael. I wish you and Patricia a long and happy life together."