MY EX-HUSBAND'S BILLION DOLAR MISTAKE

"Stop acting, Nichole," Raymond said coldly, turning his back to her.

"Your theatrics won't work anymore. I'm done. Tomorrow, my lawyer will deliver the papers. Sign them and leave. If you try to drag this out, I will ruin whatever little reputation you have left."

"Please..." Nichole sobbed, curling into a fetal position on the cold floor, her tears mixing with the sweat on her face. The pain in her womb was ripping her apart, a physical manifestation of her heart breaking into a million irrecoverable pieces. "The baby... help me..."

Raymond didn't look back. He walked into the adjacent dressing room; Beatrice hurriedly gathered her clothes and followed him, leaving Nichole alone in the darkening bedroom.

The rain in Los Angeles didn't wash the city clean; it just made the asphalt slick and reflected the neon glare of a thousand broken promises. Inside the master bedroom of the Vance estate in Bel-Air, the atmosphere was stifling warm, thick with the cloying, sweet scent of jasmine.

It wasn't Nichole's perfume.

It was someone else' scent.

Nichole stood frozen in the doorway, her fingers tightly gripping the handle of the luxury shopping bag she carried. Inside was a hand-knitted pair of tiny white booties, a secret she had concealed for less than twenty-four hours. After six long, agonizing years of negative tests, clinic visits, and the silent, venomous scowls of her mother-in-law, a faint pink line had finally appeared that morning. She had rushed home early from a lonely doctor's appointment, her heart hammering against her ribs with a fragile, beautiful hope.

That hope died in a single breath.

On the expansive, custom-made velvet bed sheets, sheets she had painstakingly chosen, two figures were entangled. The harsh glow of the bedside lamp illuminated the sharp profile of her husband, Raymond Roland, and his hands gripping the waist of Beatrice Hart.

Beatrice, Nichole's childhood friend and confidante, the woman who had held her hand at her wedding, the friend who had comforted her through every tearful, negative pregnancy test?.

A soft, breathless laugh escaped Beatrice's lips, a sound that sliced through Nichole's chest like a jagged blade.

The shopping bag slipped from Nichole's numb fingers, hitting the hardwood floor with a soft thud. The tiny white booties rolled out into the light.

The sound shattered the room's illicit bubble. Raymond snapped his head around, his handsome features tightening with a brief flash of irritation before settling into a cold, mask-like composure. He didn't scramble for the covers. He didn't panic. He simply rolled off the bed, pulling on a silk robe with the practiced elegance of a man who believed he owned the world and everyone in it.

Beatrice, however, gasped, pulling the satin sheets to her chest. Yet, beneath the feigned shock in her eyes, a dark, triumphant gleam flared loudly.

"Nichole," Raymond said, his voice entirely devoid of remorse. It was smooth, deep, and chillingly casual. "You're home early."

"Raymond..." Nichole's voice was a whisper, a ragged thread of sound. She looked from her husband to her best friend. "Beatrice... how could you do this to me? Why?"

Beatrice looked down, squeezing her eyes shut to force out a tear. "Nichole, please... it's not what it looks like. I promise you....I never meant to hurt you. We just... it just happened."

"Don't apologize to her, Beatrice," Raymond cut in sharply. He walked over to the wet bar in the corner of the room, pouring himself a neat amber glass of scotch. He took a slow sip, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Nichole's pale, trembling face.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later anyways, so deal with it."

Nichole felt the room spinning. The betrayal was a physical weight, pressing down on her lungs until she could barely breathe.

"Bound to happen? Raymond, you are my husband! We have been married for six years! I have given you everything!"

"Everything?" Raymond let out a sharp, mocking laugh that echoed cruelly against the high ceilings. He walked toward her, each footstep sounding like a death toll. He stopped just inches away, looking down at her with pure, unadulterated disdain.

"Look at yourself, Nichole. You're a mistake of a woman. For six years, I have tolerated a quiet, barren house. I am the CEO of Roland Global. I have an empire to secure, a legacy to leave. And what have you given me? Nothing but empty promises and monthly disappointments."

The words struck her with a physical force. "It's a medical issue, Raymond... we were supposed to face it together"

"A medical issue you say ? No, it's a failure," Raymond hissed, his voice dropping to a vicious undertone. "You are useless to me, you are a burden. You sit in this house like a piece of fragile furniture, begging for affection while offering nothing in return. Beatrice gives me life, she gives me passion, and she presents me a woman who isn't broken."

"I am not broken Raymond!" Nichole screamed, the pain finally ripping out of her chest in a raw, violent burst. She stepped forward, her hands clenched into fists, her storm-gray eyes flashing with a desperate, wounded fury. "I loved you! I stood by you when you were building the company you are holding on to as CEO! How dare you use my pain against me? How dare you bring her into our marital home!"

She turned her burning gaze to Beatrice, who was now stepping out of the bed, wrapping a stray sheet around herself.

"And you... I trusted you with my deepest fears! I shared my pains with you and cried on your shoulder!"

"And I got tired of listening to it," Beatrice snapped, the guise of guilt slipping away to reveal a cold, hard envy. "You always had everything so easy, Nichole. The perfect grace, the effortless beauty, the wealthy husband. But you couldn't even do the one thing a wife is supposed to do. Raymond deserves a family, he deserves me."

"Get out," Nichole murmured, too shocked to shout, her body shaking so violently she could barely stand. "Get the hell out of my house!" she said again.

"Your house?" Raymond interjected, a sneer twisting his handsome face. He grabbed her arm, his grip tightening until it bruised. "This house belongs to me. Everything you wear, everything you eat, the very air you breathe in this city is bought and paid for by my name. You have nothing."

"Let go of me!" Nichole struggled, trying to pull her arm back, but the emotional distress was draining her physical strength. "Raymond, let go! I'm pregnant!"

The confession hung in the air, sudden and heavy.

Raymond froze for a fraction of a second, looking down at her. Then, a dark, unbelieving laugh rattled in his throat. "Pregnant? Now? What a pathetic, desperate lie. You'll say anything to keep your hands on my fortune, won't you?"

"It's not a lie! I have the test in my bag"

"Enough!" Raymond shoved her away with a burst of frustrated rage.

The force of the push caught Nichole completely off guard. Her heels caught on the edge of the thick rug, and she lost her balance. Time seemed to slow down as she fell backward, her body crashing violently against the sharp edge of the marble fireplace mantle before she collapsed heavily onto the hard floor.

A sharp, agonizing pain immediately flared in her abdomen. It was a white-hot sensation that made her vision go dark at the edges.

"Raymond..." she gasped, clutching her stomach as a terrifying warmth began to spread beneath her clothes. "Raymond, help me... something is wrong. Please..."