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

Michael’s expression shifted unpredictably as he listened to me. After a long pause, he grabbed my hand, as though he had made up his mind.

“I admit it—you win this time. Come back with me and I’ll tell my mother we’ll get the marriage license.”

A marriage license?

If this were three years ago, those words would have made me overjoyed. Back then, I was a starry-eyed girl whose biggest dream was to marry Michael.

But now? I had already married the love of my life two years ago. I even had a baby growing inside me.

Michael seemed puzzled by my lack of excitement. He must have been expecting the old me, the one who would light up and eagerly orbit around him at the mere mention of marriage. My indifference threw him off, his discomfort plain to see.

After a moment of thought, I realized I did owe Mrs. Lester an explanation. After all, our engagement had been arranged since birth.

Finally, I nodded and agreed to go back with him.

Michael immediately switched to his smug, self-assured demeanor, as though he’d won some grand victory.

He probably still believed I was the same naive girl who would melt at the mere suggestion of getting a license.

When we got to the car, he tried to guide me into the passenger seat, but I stepped aside without hesitation and climbed into the back.

He frowned at me. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. I’ll just sit in the back.”

There was a time when I believed the front passenger seat was a wife’s rightful spot and I would make a fuss over it with him. But now, I was married to someone else and sitting there felt inappropriate.

Michael was quiet for a moment. The car, which used to be filled with my chatter whenever I was around, was now steeped in silence.

As we stopped at a red light, he suddenly broke it. “Why aren’t you fighting for the passenger seat anymore?”

I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. “What?”

He turned to look at me, his gaze intense. “Why didn’t you take the passenger seat just now? I remember how you always used to say it was your ‘exclusive territory.’”

His words brought back memories of a different time—when I still loved him.

Back then, I could talk to him endlessly and I mimicked those lovey-dovey couples I saw online, declaring that a boyfriend’s passenger seat was the wife’s “exclusive territory.”

I had argued with him over it countless times.

He used to find it childish, brushing me off with impatience, while Patricia would conveniently claim she got carsick and slip into the passenger seat. Every time, she’d smirk triumphantly at me.

Whenever I suggested calling Patricia a cab or buying her motion sickness medicine, Michael would immediately jump to her defense.

“Sherry, why are you always so inconsiderate? Does Patty sitting in the car really bother you that much?”

I wanted to tell him I wasn’t angry, just a bit jealous. I wanted to explain that I could easily arrange a luxury car for Patricia, one that would make sure she wouldn’t feel a thing.

But every word got stuck in my throat, silenced by Michael’s sharp rebuke.

Now, hearing him bring up my supposed attachment to the front seat felt almost surreal. All that remained in my memory were his scoldings and Patricia’s smug, victorious smirks.

Maybe there had always been signs. The aloof and self-restrained Michael had always made exceptions for Patricia. I should have walked away long ago instead of letting myself become the punchline of a ten-year joke.

When I didn’t respond, Michael pulled the car over and turned to look at me. “Sherry?”

His voice brought me back to the moment. I smiled quietly, not offering much of an answer.

“I was childish back then, always putting you in a tough spot. That was my fault. Looking back, it was silly of me.”

When we arrived at the Lester Family estate, Michael walked over to help me out of the car, reaching instinctively for my hand.

I stepped away without thinking, my face calm, distant.

Michael’s expression darkened. “Still playing hard to get, Sherry?”