His Billion Dollar Lie

Evangeline's POV

"Be gentle tonight, Charles."

The words slip from my lips like a whispered prayer as I lie against the silk sheets. My cheeks flush with the faintest hint of rose as his deep blue eyes find mine in the dim bedroom light.

God, he's still so beautiful. Even after all these years, the sight of him makes my heart race. His strong hands frame my face, thumbs tracing the hollow beneath my cheekbones as he leans down to kiss me.

The kiss is soft, reverent, like I'm something precious that might break. His hand slides down to my waist, fingers trailing over the thin cotton of my nightgown.

For just a perfect, stolen moment, it feels like before. Like we're still those two orphaned kids who only had each other. Like Seraphina Blackwood doesn't exist.

Then his phone screams from the nightstand.

"Shit." Charles pulls back, and I see the exact moment his walls slam up. The tender man who was just kissing me like I was his whole world disappears. Now he's the CEO who always has somewhere else to be.

He stares at the phone for three long rings, then let out a sigh while grabbing it.

"Hello?" His voice drops to that special tone. The one that's become as familiar as my own heartbreak. Soft. Careful.

Like he's talking to something delicate.

I used to be the delicate thing he spoke to that way.

Charles walks to the window, his broad shoulders tense beneath his white t-shirt. He keeps his voice low, but I catch fragments anyway. "No, no, it's fine. I'll be right over."

Right over. Like he was just waiting for the excuse to leave.

The call ends. Charles stands frozen by the window, staring out at the glittering lights of Palo Alto like they hold answers to questions he's too much of a coward to ask out loud.

Then he starts moving, gathering his clothes with practiced efficiency.

"You're leaving again tonight?" The question comes out smaller than I intended. "Going to her?"

Silence stretches between us like a chasm. Finally, he nods without turning around. "Yeah."

"How long this time? A few days? A week?"

More silence. Charles pulls on his jeans, his movements sharp and guilty. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough. "Take care of yourself. I might not be back for a few days."

He stops at the doorway, hand on the knob. His shoulders are rigid, and for a wild second I think he might turn around.

But he doesn't.

The door closes with a soft click, and I'm alone again. The bed sheets slide down to my waist as I sit up, exposing shoulders that have grown too thin, collarbones that jut out like accusations.

I wrap my arms around myself and try not to think about how long it's been since Charles held me through the night.

How did we get here? We used to be inseparable.

I close my eyes and let the memories take me back to when things made sense. Back to St. Mary's Home for Children, where Charles would slip into my bed during those brutal Oregon winters.

I was always sick. Fevers, infections, mysterious illnesses that left me weak and hollow-eyed. Charles would give me his food at dinner, tell the other kids I was off-limits, carry me to the nurse when I couldn't walk.

"You're gonna be okay, Evie," he'd whisper against my hair as I shivered through another fever. "I won't let anything happen to you."

And he never did. Not until now.

Even at Stanford, when I struggled to keep up with the brilliant minds around me, Charles was my constant. He'd find me in the lab at three in the morning, hunched over code that refused to compile, and he'd just sit beside me.

Not trying to fix it. Charles always said I was the genius between us. But just being there. Making sure I ate. Making sure I slept.

"You don't have to prove anything to anyone," he'd tell me during those late nights. "You're already everything I need."

After graduation, we built something beautiful together. His business smarts and my algorithms created magic. An AI company that caught fire in Silicon Valley.

When we went public, Charles's net worth hit the headlines. We bought this house in Palo Alto, this perfect sanctuary where I could recover from exhaustion.

Charles would hold my hand, and carry me to bed, sharing those happy days.

Those were the happiest days of my life, and our marriage also seemed to be just around the corner.

Then she came back.

I remember that night exactly one year ago when Charles came home looking like he'd seen a ghost. His face was gray, his hands shaking as he poured himself three fingers of whiskey.

"Seraphina's back," he said without preamble. "She wants to talk."

Seraphina Blackwood. Stanford MBA, daughter of tech royalty, the woman who'd chased Charles through college with the relentless determination of a predator.

Back then, he'd barely glanced her way. Why would he? He had me.

But this wasn't college anymore. This was Silicon Valley, where family names and generational wealth still moved mountains. The Blackwoods controlled semiconductor patents worth billions. They had the power to crush us without breaking a sweat.

"Her father's threatening a hostile takeover," Charles explained, his voice hollow. "Unless I marry her."

I remember laughing. Actually laughing, because it sounded like something out of a bad romance novel. Rich girl gets what she wants through Daddy's money? Please.

"So tell them to go to hell," I said.

Charles looked at me like I'd suggested we rob a bank. "Evie, you don't get it. They have the connections to destroy everything we've built. But if I marry Seraphina, get access to their resources, their network... I can play the long game. Build our power base."

He paused, his voice dropping to that tender tone I loved. "Then when the time is right, I'll come back to you."

His plan sounded so reasonable then. So strategic. A temporary sacrifice for our long-term happiness.

But that was a year ago. And now...

Now Charles spends more nights at Seraphina's penthouse than in our bed. Now he comes home smelling like her perfume, something expensive and cloying that clings to his skin like ownership.

I curl up on his side of the bed, clutching his pillow to my chest. The scent of his cologne mingles with my tears, and I hate how pathetic I've become. How desperate.

Am I losing him? The only person who ever truly loved me?

The thought sends fresh waves of panic through my chest. Charles has been my anchor since I was eight years old. Without him, what am I?

I used to think about ending it all when this nightmare started. What was the point of living if Charles didn't love me anymore? But then...

I slowly sit up in bed, my hand drifting to rest on my still-flat stomach.

"But then you came along, didn't you?" I whisper to the empty room, to the tiny cluster of cells.

I've been carrying this secret for days now, and just waiting for tonight.

The bedroom door remains stubbornly closed. Outside, Palo Alto glitters with Silicon Valley success stories, but inside this beautiful house, I'm just a woman alone with her secrets and her slowly breaking heart.

"We're going to have a baby, Charles," I whisper to the darkness, my voice cracking on his name. "If only you were here to hear it."

I pull my knees up to my chest, one hand still resting protectively over our child, and let the moonlight streaming through the blinds paint silver tracks down my cheeks.