Pregnant, Betrayed, And Seeking My Vengeance

Sutton Moul

Billionaires | Completed

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I discovered I was pregnant with my boyfriend of five years, empire heir Cash Robinson, in the same clinic where I learned his fiancée was also pregnant with his child. His family' s response was to have me thrown to their guard dogs. As they mauled me, I heard Cash walk away, believing the lie that I had taken their money and left. But they made one mistake: I survived. And with the help of his best friend, I' m coming back to burn their entire world to the ground.

Betrayal Revenge Pregnancy Billionaires Kickass Heroine

Chapter 17

01-06 21:43

Chapter 1

I discovered I was pregnant with my boyfriend of five years, empire heir Cash Robinson, in the same clinic where I learned his fiancée was also pregnant with his child.

His family' s response was to have me thrown to their guard dogs. As they mauled me, I heard Cash walk away, believing the lie that I had taken their money and left.

But they made one mistake: I survived. And with the help of his best friend, I' m coming back to burn their entire world to the ground.

Chapter 1

Eliza POV:

I found out my five-year relationship was a lie in the sterile silence of a clinic waiting room, the same place I had just discovered I was pregnant.

For five years, everyone in New York knew me as Eliza Fuentes, the charity case, the housekeeper' s daughter who had somehow captured the heart of Cash Robinson, the heir to the Robinson empire.

They talked about us in hushed tones at galas I attended on his arm. They whispered about the tragic accident on the slick Hamptons road, where he' d swerved to save me, leaving him with a permanent limp. A noble sacrifice. A testament to his love.

That limp was the reason his family, led by the ice-cold patriarch Alton Thornton, had tolerated me. They' d made a pact with their son, a five-year deal I wasn' t supposed to know about but learned of through hushed arguments behind study doors. If Cash could successfully launch the new Robinson tech subsidiary, proving his worth despite his "disability," they would finally approve our marriage.

The five-year deadline was next week.

A nervous energy had been thrumming under my skin for days. Cash had been distant, his nights spent at the office growing longer, his texts shorter. He' d chalked it up to the pressure of the launch.

"Just one more week, 'Liza," he' d murmured into my hair two nights ago, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Then it' s just you and me. Forever."

I' d held onto those words like a prayer.

So when the nausea started, when my period was laughably late, a spark of wild, terrifying hope ignited in my chest. A baby. Our baby. It would be the perfect, undeniable seal on our future.

I didn' t tell him. I wanted to see the confirmation in writing, to hold the proof in my hands before I surprised him. I scheduled an appointment at the most exclusive private clinic on the Upper East Side, the kind of place where discretion was the most expensive service they offered.

And that' s where I saw her.

Catherine Yang.

She glided into the waiting room like she owned it, her Hermes Birkin swinging from her arm. She was the daughter of a new-money tech giant, a socialite whose picture was plastered across every gossip column. She was also a permanent fixture in Cash' s life, a "childhood friend" he could never quite shake.

I hated her. I hated the effortless way she belonged in this world, and I hated the way Cash' s eyes would sometimes follow her at parties, a flicker of something I refused to name.

She didn't see me, tucked away in a corner chair. She approached the front desk, her voice a low, confident murmur.

A small, triumphant smile played on her lips as she turned away from the desk, her perfectly manicured hand resting unconsciously, almost possessively, on her flat stomach. A cold dread, sharp and sudden, washed over me. It was an instinct, a primal recognition of a threat I couldn't yet name.

My own name was called then. I walked past her in a daze, my heart hammering against my ribs.

An hour later, the doctor' s cheerful confirmation felt like a death sentence. "Congratulations, Ms. Fuentes. You' re about six weeks along."

I clutched the printout of the ultrasound-a tiny, blurry speck that was supposed to be our future-and walked back into the waiting room on unsteady legs.

Catherine was gone. But her presence lingered, a sickly-sweet perfume in the air. As I was about to leave, I heard one of the nurses speaking quietly to the receptionist.

"Can you believe it? Catherine Yang. Another one for Dr. Miller. She' s about six weeks, too. Said she wanted to confirm everything before the engagement announcement with Cash Robinson next month."

The world tilted.

Cash Robinson.

Six weeks.

The nurse' s words echoed in the sudden, roaring silence of my mind. It couldn' t be. It was a mistake. A different Cash Robinson.

But I knew it wasn't.

My phone felt impossibly heavy in my hand. My thumb trembled as I scrolled through my photos. There was one from a charity ball a month and a half ago. Cash was laughing, his arm around my waist, but his eyes were angled just slightly away from the camera. Following someone. Following a flash of emerald green silk.

Catherine Yang' s dress.

The memory hit me like a physical blow. He' d come home late that night, smelling of champagne and Catherine' s perfume. He' d said it was a business dinner, that she' d spilled a drink on him. He' d pulled me into his arms, his mouth silencing my questions, his hands working a familiar magic until I forgot what I was even asking.

It was all a lie.

The late nights. The "business" trips. The pact.

My fingers, clumsy and numb, dialed his number. He answered on the second ring, his voice warm and familiar, a blade twisting in my gut.

"Hey, 'Liza. Everything okay?"

I couldn' t speak. The sound of his voice, the easy affection in it, made me sick.

"Babe? You there?" he asked, a hint of concern creeping in. "Just wrapping things up here. I' ll be home soon. I miss you."

A choked sob escaped my lips. It was a wounded, animal sound that I didn't recognize as my own.

I couldn' t breathe. The tiny ultrasound picture in my hand felt like it was burning my skin. This speck of life, our child, was conceived from deceit. It was proof not of love, but of my own monumental stupidity.

I thought of the past five years. The way I' d managed his physical therapy schedules. The way I' d defended him to my mother, who never trusted the Robinsons. The way I' d put my own Columbia Law degree on the back burner, taking a quiet teaching position at a prep school because Cash didn' t like the idea of me working in a competitive, high-stress environment.

"It' s not fitting for a Robinson wife," he' d said with a charming smile, as if the title were already mine. And I' d believed him. I' d given up a top-tier law firm offer for him. For this.

For a lie.

The casual way the nurse had said it. The engagement announcement with Cash Robinson. Not a secret. Not a rumor. A fact. A scheduled event.

" 'Liza?" His voice was closer now, laced with genuine worry. "What' s wrong? Talk to me."

How could I? What would I even say? Congratulations on your impending fatherhood. Which one of us did you plan on telling first?

The bitterness was a poison in my throat.

I hung up.

My thumb hovered over his contact photo-his smiling face, the one I' d kissed good morning for 1,825 days. The man who saved my life and then systematically ruined it.

I watched him smile at Catherine in my mind' s eye. I saw his hand on her stomach. I heard him whisper the same promises to her he' d whispered to me.

I took a deep, shuddering breath.

I deleted the contact.

Then, I blocked his number.

The little black box in my hand, once a lifeline to him, was now just a piece of glass and metal. Cold and empty.

Just like me.

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