Running Away With a Billionaire’s Heir

Later that evening as I returned our home, the luxurious villa that Ethan had designed for me, collecting the exquisite decoration from all over the world before he gifted the house on our wedding, felt only like a cage now.

I watched our wedding photo hang on the living room. He looked happy in it, but the smile didn't seem as passionate as I saw on his face when he was lying with Maya!

I did not head up to my bedroom. Instead, I walked into his study room. The password was still our wedding date, a feign show-off his love for me.

Though I knew the password, I never entered his study room before, not wanting to disturb his peace and privacy.

Who knew I was just being an ignorant wife being blinded in love!

The mouse of his laptop felt cold and heavy in my hand, a stark contrast to the fire spreading through my chest. The desktop flared to life, the wallpaper, a candid of us laughing on our honeymoon in Santorini now felt like a cruel joke.

I didn't have to dig deep. Ethan, ever the confident predator, hadn't even bothered to hide his tracks. A minimized window sat on the taskbar, a messaging app that I had never seen him use on his phone.

I clicked it.

The screen was instantly flooded with a stream of green and grey bubbles. The contact name was simply "M," but the profile picture was unmistakable. Maya, draped in the silk robe I had bought for our anniversary, lounging on our bed while I had been away visiting my sick mother.

He didn't even spare our bedroom and stained it with his infidelity, letting her wear my clothes.

I almost threw up imagining them lying on my bed, mocking me. But, I had to keep going.

I scrolled up, my eyes stinging. My eyes fixed on their chat history.

Ethan: I can still smell your perfume on the sheets. My wife came back in an hour, but all I can think about is the way you looked under the moonlight last night.

Maya: Is she still playing the doting little housewife? Doesn't she get boring?

Ethan: She’s a ghost in this house, Maya. A necessity for the public, but a burden in private. You’re the only one who makes me feel alive.

He spoke to her with a raw, desperate hunger I hadn't felt from him in years. While I was meticulously choosing the right curtains for his study or keeping the house silence so he could "focus on work," he was busy typing out graphic descriptions of what he wanted to do to Maya in the very rooms I cleaned.

Then, I found the hidden folder. It wasn't encrypted. Why would he bother? He thought I was too ignorant to ever step foot in here.

I clicked through the photos, each one a serrated blade to my heart:

A photo from last month at a gala. I remembered that night—I had waited up until 3:00 AM with his favorite tea because he said he was stuck at a late-night board meeting.

In the photo, he was pinned against a balcony railing by Maya, his hands tangled in her hair with a ferocity he never showed me.

Then came a series of "business trip" photos. They weren't in a boardroom. They were on a private yacht. In every shot, Ethan’s eyes were wide, bright, and utterly consumed by her.

I saw timestamps that matched the nights I had called him, crying because I felt lonely. I saw his replies to me—"Busy, don't wait up"—sent minutes after he had taken a selfie of Maya kissing his neck.

I looked at the wedding photo in the hallway through the open door, then back at the screen. The Ethan on the screen was a stranger—a man capable of a deep, illicit passion that he had deliberately starved me of. I wasn't just a wife he had fallen out of love with; I was a prop he used to maintain his image of a stable, successful man.

The shock was gone now. In its place was a cold, crystalline clarity. I reached for the desk phone and dialed Dr. Smith.

"Dr. Smith, please do not tell Ethan about my pregnancy." I said.

"What?" She was surprised. "Mr Morgan is really looking for a heir, Mrs. Morgan. He has waited for five years already. Do you really not want to keep this news secret from him?"

"Give me two weeks, Dr. Smith. I'm preparing a surprise for him." I replied, my voice sharp and cold.

"Oh, I see." She replied, "Then, I won't ruin it, haha."

I hang up the call. I was planning a surprise for him indeed.

In fifteen days, I would be far away from his reach and the heir he always wanted, well, he will never be able to see him. He just didn't deserve it.