Mr Reluctant Billionaire || BWWM

Thirty-nine

Pregnant? I snort in disbelief, folding my legs underneath me as I reprimand myself for letting Sophia’s words linger in my head. Nothing positive comes out of her mouth, why did I expect that to change today? Propping my elbow on the table, I nibble on the last of the chocolates I stole, eyeing the empty wraps strewn across the table. I am a big mess.

Unable to block out Sophia’s voice, I open my phone’s browser to Google spotting, the possibility of young women spotting during pregnancy and I suck in a sharp breath at the information displayed in front of me. My eyes water, I shake my head and let my phone slip through my fingers, this is bullcrap. They are in collaboration with Sophia.

Why haven’t I thrown up yet? Why don’t I have the usual morning sickness? I have lost my appetite and that’s normal for me, a lot of women. But I haven’t felt dizzy or many of the symptoms they are kind to list off on this health site. I am not pregnant; she is a liar.

The ringing phone catches my attention, I sink my teeth into my lips as Clarissa’s picture comes into view. Our whole conversation is a blur, I barely register the concern in her voice and the call ends shortly after a series of curt, monotone replies from me.

I am fine, she needs to stop worrying.

Jumping from the seat, I grab the edge of the table at the spell of dizziness that hits me and the memory from our last time in the dining room. I inhale feverishly. Doesn’t pregnancy make women more forgetful? Why am I hit by a wave of memories instead?

My footsteps echo in the house as I saunter to Brandon’s office, I pat my cheeks gently and let out a sigh. She has questions to answer, starting from what she’s doing in our house. Why is she in his office? I don’t get to enter his office and I’m his wife. His wife.

The door to his office is closed when I get there, my fist connects with the door multiple times and I slide down to the floor. Cradling my head in my hands, I let out a sob and my shoulders tremble as tears pour out of my eyes. Where do we stand now? Rocking from side to side, I let sleep take over me, ignoring my neck screaming out in protest.

* * *

I roll to my side, digging my elbows into something soft and my eyelids flutter open. The ceiling of our room comes into view, I blink. I am on the bed, our bed. How did I get here? My eyes flit to the silhouette standing in the dark with his head bent as he fiddles with the buckle of his belt. Looking down at my body, I see I have been rid of my kimono, leaving me in my spaghetti strap mini gown and I pull the duvet up to my chin.

A yawn escapes me, I cover my mouth then proceed to rub my eyes with the back of my hand. The curtains are drawn, making it hard to tell what time of the day it is and I have no intention of finding out. My body weighs a ton like I spent all day doing squats and lifting dumbbells when in truth, the only tasking thing I did was coming here in an Uber.

Sleep threatens to take over me, my eyelids grow heavy and I yawn. Feeling suffocated, I pull the gown over my head, I am about to toss it on the floor but the footsteps nearing the bed reminds me of the uninvited guest. With nothing but my underwear on, I hold the gown in front of me like a weapon, waving it threateningly at the intruder.

Why is he wearing only boxers? I gulp. If Brandon walks in, he will go off on me again.

“Stop.” My voice is hoarse, my knees dig into the bed as I shift position and the duvet drops. Clutching the gown, I eye him warily as he stalks closer to me. “Don’t come close.”

But he keeps coming. His walking step reminds me of Brandon, if the room wasn’t so dim-lit I might have recognised him. There is something off about him but I can’t place it, I gasp when his knees hit the bed and jump down to stand behind the headboard.