The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife

Angela POV
I paced the sterile hospital corridor, my borrowed clothes hanging loosely on my frame.
The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across the linoleum floor, making everything look washed out and unreal.
Sean sat on a plastic chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his wedding suit rumpled and stained with Christopher's blood.
The emergency room doors remained firmly shut. No matter how many times I approached the nurses' station, the answer was
always the same: "The doctors are still working. We'll update you as soon as we can."
When David finally arrived, his face was pale with worry. His normally impeccable appearance was disheveled-tie askew, hair
uncombed, as if he'd dropped everything and rushed over. His eyes widened when he saw us.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice strained.
Sean stood up, running a hand through his hair. "There was an incident at our wedding. A woman crashed the reception and
attacked Angela with a knife. Christopher... he got between them."
"A woman?" David frowned. "Who?"
Jennifer," I said, the name bitter on my tongue. The one who kidnapped me five years ago."
Recognition flashed across David's face. "The woman who kidnapped you back then? The one who went to prison?"
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I nodded, leaning against the wall for support. My body felt heavy with exhaustion and worry. "Yes. She showed up at our
wedding, claiming I had ordered someone to disfigure her face in prison." I looked at David directly. "She was targeting me.
Christopher stepped in and took the knife that was meant for me."
After hearing the story, David began pacing back and forth, checking his watch every few minutes, his fingers drumming
anxiously against his thigh-not the controlled behavior of an employee concerned for his boss, but the raw anxiety of someone
fearing for a brother.
David's expression shifted, something complicated passing behind his eyes. "How could I forget her? Christopher was furious
when you were kidnapped. He even paid some prison connections to teach that woman a lesson.” He hesitate hen added,

"Christopher has his violent tendencies sometimes, but I've never seen him hurt a woman before."
My eyes widened. "So the scars on Jennifer's face... Christopher arranged that?"
David shook his head slowly. "I don't know the specifics. He just ordered someone to 'teach her a lesson.' He never specified
how."
The revelation hit me like a physical blow. I slid down the wall until was sitting on the floor, my mind racing. It all felt like some
twisted script written by fate. If Christopher hadn't arranged Jennifer's punishment, would she have shown up at our wedding
seeking revenge? Would anyone have been hurt today?
"This is all my fault," I whispered, my voice breaking. "If I hadn't invited him to the wedding-"
David crouched down beside me, his hand firm on my shoulder.

"Don" he said fiercely. "Christopher made his choice. He knew exactly what he was doing when he stepped in front of that knife.
He would do it again in a heartbeat. Please don't blame yourself for His choice."
Sean's face had darkened with rage. He paced the corridor like a caged animal, his hands clenching and unclenching at his
sides. "I'll
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make sure that woman never sees daylight again," he said, his voice old and deadly. "She'll spend the rest of her miserable life
behind bars. I'll hire every lawyer in New York if I have to."
But then again, Christopher had only done it because of what Jennifer had done to me. The cycle of violence seemed endless,
each action triggering another, leading us to this moment-Christopher fighting for his life in an emergency room.
"The day I gave him your wedding invitation," David continued quietly, 'he locked himself in his room for two days. Wouldn't eat,
wouldn't see anyone. I honestly thought he wouldn't come to your wedding. But then..."
His voice trailed off, and we all fell silent. There was nothing left to say. We stared at the emergency room doors, willing them to
open with good news. But they remained closed, and all we could do was wait and hope.
As hours passed, my anxiety grew. I found myself nestled against Sean on one of the hard hospital benches, his arm around my
shoulders, his heartbeat steady against my ear. I thought about what he'd said earlier-that Christopher's wound was on the right

side of his chest, away from his heart. That he would be okay.
I clung to that hope desperately, repeating it like a mantra in my head. The knife missed his heart. He'll be fine. The knife missed
his heart. He'll be fine.
Three long hours after they wheeled Christopher into surgery, the doors finally swung open. A doctor emerged, still in his surgical
gown, his mask pulled down around his neck. The weariness in his eyes sent a chill down my spine before he even spoke.
I stood up immediately, Sean rising beside me, his hand finding mine and squeezing tightly.
Are you family?" the doctor asked, his voice quiet.