THE BILLIONAIRE'S REVENGE: RUTHLESS REDEMPTION

ARI'S POINT OF VIEW

When I got back to Wendy’s place, the silence hit harder than Vanessa’s rejection. No cheerful voice. No teasing laugh. Just me… and the echo of failure hanging over my head.

I tossed my bag on the couch and paced. My phone buzzed, a notification popping up. Against my better judgment, I opened it.

Derek.

Tasha.

Smiling like the perfect little family in a glossy post that made my stomach twist.

My thumb hovered for a second before I pressed unfollow. Then block. Both of them.

They’d see.

They’d see exactly what I was made of.

But Maxine… my daughter. My own child. How could she? Was she so dazzled by Derek’s wealth and Tasha’s fame that she couldn’t see what this was doing to me?

The front door clicked open, snapping me out of it. Wendy walked in, a file under her arm, and froze when she saw me.

“Ari?” she said softly. “What happened?”

I slumped onto the couch, the weight of everything pressing down.

“I didn’t get the job,” I admitted, my voice small, almost embarrassed.

Wendy dropped her file on the coffee table and sat beside me. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around me.

“Ari, listen,” she said firmly. “Rejections, mistakes, failures, frustrations, insults… they’re all part of progress and growth. Nobody has ever achieved anything worthy without going through them. Not one person.”

Her words sank in, not immediately soothing, but like a warm blanket draped over my shivering body. I let out a shaky breath and leaned into her.

She hugged me tighter, rocking me gently. “You’ll get your chance, Ari. Trust me.”

We stayed like that until she suddenly groaned and pressed a hand to her stomach.

“Wendy?” I frowned, pulling back. “What’s wrong?”

She winced. “Ugh, nothing. Just cramps. My period’s making me miserable.”

Cramps. Period.

I blinked. My mind did a quick calculation. I’d been so wrapped up in Derek, the kids, the divorce, last night, Vanessa’s rejection… everything. But…

Oh.

I hadn’t even realized mine was late.

Probably tomorrow, I reassured myself quickly. Probably tomorrow.

But the thought lodged itself in the back of my mind, refusing to let go.

*****

Two weeks later, and I could barely recognize myself in the mirror.

Dark circles carved under my eyes, my body ached like I’d been carrying bricks all day, and no matter how much I tried to push through, fatigue clung to me like a second skin. Stress had become my shadow—lurking behind me with every rejection email, every polite-but-cruel “we’ll get back to you,” every door slammed in my face.

I was drained. Completely, utterly drained.

Some days, I barely had the strength to get out of bed, but Wendy wouldn’t let me rot. “Get up, Ari,” she’d say, yanking the blankets off me. “You’ve survived worse. You’ll survive this.”

And I believed her… mostly.

But there was something else. Something I couldn’t ignore. My body felt different—off. The kind of tiredness no coffee or nap could fix.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, the thought creeping in again.

No. No, it couldn’t be.

Still, the possibility hovered like a storm cloud, growing darker each day.

I’ve been a mother of two. I know this feeling.

Gosh… no, no, no.

My chest tightened as I shoved my wallet into my bag and forced myself out of the apartment. My legs felt like lead, every step heavier than the last, but I couldn’t sit around pretending anymore. I needed to know. I had to know.

The supermarket wasn’t far, but halfway there I already felt winded, like my body was mocking me.

“Please… just be a fever. Or a cold,” I muttered under my breath, ignoring the stares of strangers as I pressed a shaky hand to my forehead. “Maybe it’s the flu. Marcus caught it last week. Yeah. That’s it. Just the flu.”

But deep down, my gut already knew the truth.

And that truth scared the hell out of me.

I didn’t even waste time greeting anyone when I got home. The second I stepped in, Wendy opened her mouth to say something but I bolted past her, clutching that little bag like it was burning my hand.

Straight into the bathroom. Lock. Deep breath.

My reflection stared back at me from the mirror above the sink—pale, tired, but no different. No weight gain. No bloating. If anything, I looked leaner, like stress had been eating me alive. No way I looked like a pregnant woman… right?

My hands shook as I tore the box open.

“Please… just be stress, or maybe the flu,” I whispered to myself, but my heart was already hammering, betraying me.

I unwrapped the test, sat down, and prayed under my breath while I waited.

My palms were clammy as I stared down at the little stick, my heartbeat thudding so loud it filled the room. I wanted to look, to know, but fear held me frozen. The knock on the door startled me.

“Ari, you okay in there?” Wendy’s voice carried concern.

“I’m fine!” I snapped too quickly, too sharply.

A pause. Then, softer, “Alright. If you need anything, just call me.”

I waited until I heard her footsteps fade and the faint sound of the door shutting. Only then did I finally let out the shaky breath I was holding.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I whispered desperate little prayers—please don’t let it be what I think… just stress, just fatigue… please, God. My hand trembled as I finally opened my eyes and glanced down.

Two bold lines. Positive.

My throat went dry.

“I’m… pregnant.” The words barely left me in a whisper.

Shit.