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Mr. Rhodes, Your Dead Fiancée Is Pregnant

Author: Guo Er

Chapter 1

Word Count: 952 | Released on: Today at 16:35

eport, an anonymous number sent her four photo

tella held the lab sheet in her right hand-hCG po

hodes had a woman pressed against his chest, his mouth s

heir hair. None of them were doctored. The man's left wrist against Celeste's w

ever seen Lucian kiss anyone like

years until Celeste left for Milan to chase her jewelry design career. Stella had entered his life that sam

official, she had as

looked up. "Gossi

t, Nate Carver, and Grandpa Rhodes knew. Whenever she brought up going public, Lucian told her keeping them quiet

to the lab slip,

bag, and rested her palm flat against her stom

Lucian flew ba

to pick him up. Halfway down the expressway, her work phone

tor the CEO's office just brought in-does Ms.

ella slammed the brakes, tires

eleste Moore?"

ht down from the CEO's office with Mr. R

etary, Lucian had never hired a

la said, and ended the call

nal. Lucian strode out of the glass doors, six-foot-two in

eptember sun stung her eyes, making her squint against the

back, Mr.

a brief, bus

Bidding on the Southshore parcel opens at ten.

he keys," Lu

ad the trunk. When he rounded the hood and reached for the driver's door, the locks clicked shut

a by the waist, hauled her across his

f three years of habit, Stella parted h

ad, her breath was uneven. "W

oss her swollen lower lip, the frost in his d

ulled a lipstick from her open purse, tw

done this dozens of times over the last three years, and every other time it had made her heart ra

e and smoothed a

into his eyes. "Luc.

rows drew together. "We agre

he caught his cuff between

his expression coolin

st wa

e pressed the back of his hand to he

rive her home to Tribeca." He looked back at Stella. "

he quiet penthouse at 8 Harrison Street.

ber was waiting on the screen: "Th

d the phone a

m in the café downstairs from your n

Chapter End

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Mr. Rhodes, Your Dead Fiancée Is Pregnant

Guo Er Billionaires

“The same hour I got my pregnancy results, someone sent me photos of my fiancé kissing his first love on the Spanish Steps. I gave him three chances anyway. At the airport, I asked him to go public. He said there was no need. At dinner, I asked him to marry me at City Hall the next morning. He said I was acting out. Then I told him I was carrying his baby. Lucian Rhodes, the richest man in New York, the man who had proposed to me on one knee a month earlier, looked at me like a stranger. "I had a vasectomy two years ago. Watching you pretend to love me is disgusting." He slammed the door. The candles went out. I sat on the marble floor in the dark and bled. A week later I came back. Red lips, a resignation letter, a miscarriage report, and two cases of cash. My half of everything he had ever spent on me. "Three years, split fifty-fifty." On my arm was my new husband. On my way out, I told Lucian the only true thing I had ever said to him. "I never faked loving you. You called that disgusting. That's the one thing I won't forgive." Then I boarded my family's private jet. An hour later, he learned who I really was: the runaway daughter of a European banking dynasty, promised from birth to a crown prince. He learned his vasectomy had failed. He was on the airstair of his own jet, about to chase me across the Atlantic, when the news broke. My plane had gone down at sea. No survivors. The world lit candles for me. He coughed up blood on the tarmac. And on a private island in the Caribbean, with his baby growing inside me, I turned off the news and finished my mango.”