THE BILLIONAIRE WHO BEGGED FOR HIS RUNAWAY WIFE

POV: Clara Bennett

The ballroom is loud with clinking glasses and laughter, and the music plays softly while people in expensive clothes talk about money and power. I stand beside Damian, wearing the smile I have practiced for three years, and my feet ache in these high heels, but I keep my posture straight because people are watching us. Damian keeps his arm around my waist, his touch heavy and cold, and he looks down at me for a second before turning back to the group of investors.

"You look tense, Clara," Damian says, his voice low and flat near my ear.

"I am just tired, Damian," I murmur, keeping my eyes fixed on the man talking about stock prices. "It has been a long week with the merger finalization."

"Well, keep smiling," Damian says, his fingers tightening slightly on my waist. "My partners want to see a happy family tonight, and you know how important this evening is for Sterling Holdings."

"I know," I say, nodding slightly. "I am doing my part."

"Good," he says, turning away to accept a glass of champagne from a passing waiter without introducing me to the new arrivals.

I take a slow breath, telling myself that the coldness does not matter anymore because the merger is finally finished tonight. For three years, I have listened to my mother telling me that a good wife stays quiet, and I gave up my career in architecture to host his dinners, manage his schedule, and stand by his side through every media crisis. I thought that if I gave him enough time, his heart would warm up to me, but every anniversary passed with a silent dinner and a check deposited into my account. Now the papers are signed, the Bennett family shares are safely transferred, and I tell myself that things can finally change between us.

"Clara, darling," Mrs. Sterling says, appearing beside me with her diamond necklace catching the chandelier light. "You look pale. Are you holding up all right?"

"I am fine, Mother," I say, offering a polite smile. "Just a bit overwhelmed by the crowd."

"Well, do not make a scene," she says, her tone sharp and practiced. "Damian has worked too hard for this night, and the last thing we need is gossip about your health."

"I am fine," I repeat, my voice steady. "Where is Damian?"

"He went toward the private study to take a call from the board members," she says, turning her head to scan the room. "Go check on him and make sure he has his jacket on, the hallway drafts are terrible."

"Alright," I say, stepping away from the crowd and walking toward the quieter corridors of the estate.

The noise of the party fades as I walk down the hallway, the air growing still and cool, and I reach the heavy oak doors of the private study where Damian always takes his important calls. The door is slightly ajar, leaving a narrow strip of yellow light spilling onto the floor, and I raise my hand to knock when I hear Damian’s voice speaking loudly inside.

"She is entirely clueless, Mother," Damian says, his voice carrying a cold amusement that makes my chest tighten. "Clara thinks this entire marriage was some great romance, but she was simply the easiest way to secure the merger with the Bennetts."

I freeze, my hand hovering an inch from the wood, and my breath catches in my throat.

"Are you certain she suspects nothing?" his mother’s voice asks from inside the room.

"Nothing at all," Damian laughs, a harsh sound that rings in the quiet hall. "She spent three years playing the obedient wife without ever asking questions, and now that the shares are transferred, I can finally move forward with Vivian."

"You need to handle the divorce quietly," his mother says. "We do not want any legal battles holding up the new subsidiaries."

"I will file the papers next week," Damian says. "Vivian has already packed her bags to move into the penthouse, and Clara can take whatever settlement my lawyers hand her, because she gave up her rights when she signed the pre-nuptial agreement."

My legs feel weak, and I take a step back, my shoulder bumping against the wall with a soft thud. Every sacrifice I made, every birthday I spent alone while he worked, and every tear I swallowed while defending his name to the press flash through my mind, and the realization hits me like a bucket of ice water. He never cared about me, and the last three years were just a business transaction to him, so I turn around and walk away without making a sound.

I do not cry in the hallway, and I do not kick the door open to scream at him, because my mind goes completely blank and cold. I walk back through the ballroom, past the laughing investors and the flashing cameras, and I keep my smile pinned to my face until we finally get into the back of the town car. Damian sits beside me on the leather seat, checking his phone and typing messages to Vivian without even glancing in my direction, and I look out the window at the dark city streets passing by.

"You vanished for a long time back there," Damian says, not looking up from his screen.

"I went to the powder room, Damian," I reply, my voice completely normal.

"Good," he says, locking his phone and tossing it onto the seat. "Tomorrow we have a brunch with the senior executives, so make sure you are awake early."

"I will be ready," I say quietly.

When we finally get back to the penthouse, Damian heads straight to the home office to finish some paperwork, and I walk into our bedroom and close the door. I do not throw his clothes, and I do not smash any lamps, but I open my closet and pull out two suitcases from the top shelf. I take my clothes off the hangers, folding them neatly and placing them inside, and I grab my passport and my bank documents from the drawer.

As I fold a black dress, a sudden wave of nausea rolls over my stomach, and my vision blurs at the edges, making the room spin around me. I drop the dress, press my hand against the edge of the sink in the adjoining bathroom, and take deep breaths as my chest heaves. The dizziness gets worse, my stomach turns completely upside down, and I rush to the toilet, kneeling on the tile floor while my body shakes uncontrollably.

When the wave passes, I wipe my mouth with a tissue, my hands trembling so badly I can barely hold the small plastic stick I pulled from my travel pouch earlier that evening. I wait for three minutes, staring at the white plastic in my hand while the digital clock on the wall ticks softly, and the red lines begin to bleed through the window. Two distinct lines stare back at me, glowing in the dim bathroom light, and my breath stops completely as the truth sinks in.

I am pregnant with Damian's child, and the timing could not be any worse, because he plans to throw me out on the street for Vivian by next week. I drop the test into the trash can, stand up on shaking legs, and look at my reflection in the mirror, watching the tears finally fall down my cheeks without making a sound. I will not let him take my child, and I will not let him destroy what is left of my life, so I zip up the suitcases and walk out the front door into the night.