Pregnant With The Ruthless Billionaire's Secret

She moved like a ghost.

Down the elevator, through the gleaming, cathedral-like lobby of Franco Enterprises. She clutched her purse, her only possession. HR would have the contents of her desk couriered to her, she'd been told. A neat, sterile amputation.

Colleagues glanced her way, their faces a mixture of curiosity and caution. No one approached her. In Beck Franco's kingdom, the condemned were given a wide berth.

Paige was waiting for her just outside the revolving glass doors, her face etched with worry. "Oh my God, Aubree. What happened? Did he fire you?"

Aubree could only manage a numb nod. The tears she'd been holding back burned at the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not here.

"That bastard," Paige seethed, her voice a furious whisper. "Over a stupid gift?"

Aubree shook her head. She couldn't tell her the real reason. She couldn't tell anyone. The shame was a physical weight, pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. All she wanted was to disappear, to crawl into her apartment and pull the world in after her.

"Aubree!"

The voice cut through the noise of the street, a sound she had hoped to never hear again.

She stiffened, turning slowly. There, on the sidewalk, looking utterly out of place amongst the sea of bespoke suits, was Jordyn Roth. Her ex-boyfriend.

He wore ripped jeans and a faded band t-shirt, his hair a mess. He rushed toward her, his face a mask of what he probably thought was remorse.

"Babe, I know I messed up," he said, reaching for her hands. "Just give me one more chance. Please."

A wave of revulsion washed over her. She had broken up with him a month ago, after finding texts from another girl on his phone.

"Jordyn, it's over," she said, her voice flat and cold. "Leave me alone."

It was the middle of the afternoon, but the street was still a river of people-executives heading to late lunches, couriers rushing past. Many of her colleagues, lingering outside for a coffee break, recognized Jordyn from the handful of times he'd picked her up. Whispers started to ripple through the crowd.

Jordyn's pleading expression curdled into something ugly. "Over? Just like that? Because I made one little mistake? Did you find someone else? Someone rich from this shiny tower?"

His words were like acid, burning her raw nerves. The irony was so thick she could have choked on it.

Paige stepped between them. "Hey, man, back off. She said to leave."

Jordyn shoved her aside. "This isn't about you." He grabbed Aubree's arm, his grip surprisingly strong. "Aubree, just talk to me. Five minutes." His voice was begging, but his eyes were hard and possessive.

"Let go of me," she hissed, trying to wrench her arm free. His fingers only tightened, like a vise.

The scene was escalating, drawing more and more stares. Aubree's face burned with humiliation. To be suspended by a billionaire and publicly harassed by a deadbeat musician all in the same hour felt like a special kind of hell.

Fifty floors above them, Beck Franco stood at his window, watching the ugly little drama unfold on the street below.

Alex Nash stood a respectful distance behind him. "That's the ex-boyfriend, sir," he reported, his voice neutral. "Jordyn Roth. Drummer in a band that plays dive bars in Brooklyn."

Beck's gaze was fixed, his expression unreadable. He raised a pair of powerful binoculars to his eyes. He couldn't make out every detail in the chaos, but he saw Jordyn's hand clamped around Aubree's arm, her face pale with fear. His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek. The air in the office grew heavy, cold.

Down on the sidewalk, Jordyn's desperation was tipping into rage. He lunged for her purse.

"What's in here, huh? A gift from your new sugar daddy?" he snarled, tugging at the leather strap.

"Stop it!" Aubree cried, clutching her bag for dear life. Inside was her wallet, her keys, her life... and secrets she would die before letting him see.

The public spectacle, the shouting, the raw humiliation-it was all playing out on the grand stage of Wall Street. And high above, a pair of stormy gray eyes watched it all, a silent, powerful judge, as the gears of fate began to turn.