I read the message and let out a cold laugh.
So his assistant had run straight back to him with every word.
Just then, Alfred Graves called.
"Miss Pruitt, when shall I come to pick you up?"
"No rush. I want to see what other stupid moves Fred makes next."
I smiled to myself.
Early the next morning, Fred's call dragged me out of sleep.
"Winifred! Where the hell have you been?"
He was screaming into the phone.
I held it away from my ear and waited for his tantrum to burn out before yawning. "Say what you came to say."
That only made him worse.
"Did you leak it to the bank? That our last project had a delayed repayment? Why did the bank suddenly notify us today that the loan won't be approved?"
Hearing the tremor in his voice, I felt nothing but pure satisfaction.
"Didn't I already tell you? I called my father."
"The bank cutting you off is just step one. Once the funding gets pulled across every channel, you won't be far from bankruptcy."
I clicked my tongue as I said it.
Fred went quiet for a beat, then spoke through gritted teeth. "Winifred! You think bribing a few bank managers and pulling some little stunt is going to make me bow to you?"
"You want to play? Fine. I'll play this to the end."
He hung up in a rage.
Clearly, he still didn't believe my call had reached the world's richest man.
That was fine. He'd believe it soon enough.
That afternoon, Fred sent me a photo.
The cramped thirty-square-meter apartment we'd rented when we first got married, seven years ago—shabby walls, peeling paint, barely enough room to turn around.
We'd had nothing back then, but we'd scraped together every cent we could and made that place feel like ours.
Now he'd taped a sign to the door: FOR IMMEDIATE SALE.
A voice message popped up.
"See that, Winifred? This old dump is just like you. Should've been cleared out a long time ago."
My fingertip hovered for a second, but I deleted him anyway.
If he could throw away seven years without looking back, what reason did I have to keep living in the past?
But right when I thought I could walk away clean, my stomach lurched hard and everything rushed upward.
After a bout of dry heaving, I instinctively counted the days.
My period was already half a month late.
Half an hour later, I was holding the form the doctor had handed me, and my mind had gone completely blank.
I was pregnant.
I stood there for what felt like forever, and still couldn't accept it.
I'd already made every plan to forget the past, to let go of Fred Delgado for good.
Why did it have to be now?
"Well, well. Isn't this dear Winifred?"
Bianca Whitmore's voice cut in from behind me.
Fred's bodyguards flanked her.
"OB-GYN, huh? Don't tell me you're here hoping you've got Fred's baby in you—thinking that'll keep him from signing the papers?"
Her eyes were full of contempt.
I glanced at her. My mood was already shot, and I had no interest in a fight.
"Oh, you're going to pretend I'm not here?"
But Bianca stepped into my path, her voice dropping low, her gaze venomous. "If you're smart, you'll get lost on your own."
"Because the second my baby is born, every last cent you squeezed out of Fred—I'm taking it all back."
I didn't bother wasting words on her and stepped around her to leave.
I'd never planned to accept Fred's terms anyway.
Everything he had—the wealth, the status—he'd built it on what I gave him, and I intended to reclaim every cent. A single villa and a little pocket money each month to make me disappear? What a joke.
