The Billionaire's Secret Bump-Chapter 36: Ruined

Fiona stood frozen in the middle of her apartment long after the door clicked shut behind Martin.

The sound echoed in her ears like a gunshot she hadn’t expected. Rain kept tapping the window steady, indifferent. The apartment smelled faintly of his cedar cologne mixed with the rain on his coat. It clung to the air, clung to her skin, clung to the sheets still warm from where their bodies had tangled.

She felt stupid.

Again.

Stupid for opening the door.

Stupid for kissing him back.

Stupid for letting him inside her literally, figuratively, completely when every part of her had screamed to keep the walls up.

*Be my lover.*

The words kept replaying, each replay slicing deeper.

He hadn’t said it cruelly. That was the worst part. He’d said it like it was reasonable. Like it was a compromise. Like she should be grateful he was willing to keep her on the side while he married Katherine Thorne for money, power, inheritance, legacy—everything she would never be part of.

She had made a fool of herself believing he really came for her.

Believing the kiss was an apology.

Believing the way he’d held her, moved inside her, whispered her name like a prayer, meant he was choosing her.

She wasn’t his choice.

She was his secret.

His side piece.

His lover.

Fiona’s knees buckled.

She sank to the floor—back against the couch, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tight around her middle as though she could physically hold herself together.

Tears came fast and hot.

She cried holding her stomach—palms pressed flat over the small, secret swell that no one but Lena knew about.

"I’m sorry," she whispered to the baby. Voice cracked. Broken. "I’m so sorry. I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve said no. I should’ve—"

But it only made her cry harder.

Because this child—this tiny life she hadn’t planned—was the reason she couldn’t keep doing this.

She couldn’t keep working at Voss Éclat.

She couldn’t keep seeing Martin every day.

She couldn’t keep pretending she was fine while he stood in the lobby with Katherine on his arm, while he smiled politely at board meetings, while he let his father force him into a marriage he claimed he didn’t want.

She couldn’t endure working..

Not anymore.

"I’m quitting," she whispered into the dark. "I have to. This can’t go on."

She cried until her throat was raw and her eyes burned.

Then she sat in silence.

Heart aching.

She would quit.

She would leave Voss.

She would leave Martin.

She would leave the city if she had to.

But she would not be anyone’s lover.

Not even his.

Meanwhile, Martin drove back to the villa with the windows down and the rain blowing in.

His coat was soaked. His shirt clung to his skin. His hair dripped into his eyes.

He didn’t care.

His pulse hadn’t slowed since he’d left her apartment.

It roared in his ears, in his throat, in his fingertips—loud enough to drown out the rain, the tires on wet asphalt, the voice in his head screaming *what the hell did you just do?*

He kept replaying his own words.

*If you don’t mind be my lover once I’ve secured everything I will make sure you are loved.*

He hadn’t meant it like that.

He hadn’t meant it at all.

He’d meant *wait for me while I untangle myself from this mess*. He’d meant *I’m choosing you over everything*. He’d meant *I love you so much I’m willing to lose it all*.

But he’d said *lover*.

And she’d heard *mistress*.

*Side piece.*

*Secret.*

*Temporary.*

He slammed his palm against the steering wheel.

"Fuck."

The word tore out of him—raw, furious, helpless.

He’d ruined everything.

Again.

He’d finally gotten inside her apartment, finally gotten inside her, finally gotten close enough to feel her heartbeat against his chest—and then he’d opened his mouth and shattered it all.

He pulled into the villa drive.

Parked crooked.

Cut the engine.

Sat in the dark with rain hammering the roof.

His face was pale—someone who’d just been hit by a wave and hadn’t come up for air.

He stared at his hands on the wheel.

Knuckles white.

Trembling.

He thought of her face when she’d said *get out*.

The way her voice had cracked on *lover*.

The way she’d looked at him like he’d betrayed her all over again.

He leaned his forehead against the wheel.

Closed his eyes.

And for the first time since he was nineteen and lost his mother’s favorite necklace in the ocean, Martin Mole cried.

Quiet.

Outside the house that had never felt like home.

Fiona stepped off the elevator but her heart had already lodged somewhere between her throat and her collarbone. The ride up had been torture—every ding of the floors had felt like a countdown to the moment she’d have to face the reality of yesterday: the rain-soaked kiss, the desperate sex on her couch, Martin’s whispered explanation about Katherine, and then those six words that had shattered everything.

*If you don’t mind be my lover once I’ve secured everything I will make sure you are loved.*

She’d cried herself raw after he left. Cried until her throat hurt and her eyes burned and the baby kicked like it was trying to comfort her. Then she’d showered, scrubbed her skin until it was pink, changed into soft black leggings and an oversized charcoal sweater that swallowed her frame, tied her hair back in a low knot, and stared at herself in the mirror until she looked like someone who could survive the day.

She still didn’t look like herself.

But she looked like someone who could pretend.

She kept her head slightly lowered as she walked through the open-plan floor—bag clutched to her side like armor, hood still up from the morning drizzle outside. The place was already alive: phones ringing softly, keyboards clacking, the low murmur of good mornings drifting between desks. She aimed straight for her corner station by the window, praying no one would stop her.

She didn’t make it three steps.

"Fiona!" Riley’s voice cut across the floor like a flare gun.

Fiona looked up.

Riley was already barreling toward her from the coffee station, two to-go cups in hand, grin wide enough to split her face in half. Behind her, Maya turned from her monitor, relief washing over her expression like cool water. Sara popped up from her chair like a prairie dog, waving enthusiastically. Even quiet Lena gave a small, genuine smile from her corner desk.

Fiona forced her lips into something resembling a smile.

"Hey, guys."

Riley reached her first, thrusting one of the coffees forward.

Fiona took the cup automatically. The warmth seeped through the cardboard and into her cold fingers. She inhaled the sharp, soothing scent and felt a tiny crack in the armor she’d built.

Maya walked over, arms folded loosely, concern softening her usual brisk efficiency.

" You look tired. And you’ve got that look—like someone kicked your puppy and stole your lunch money."

Riley snorted, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"More like someone kicked her puppy, stole her lunch money, *and* gave her the wildest night of her life. Girl, you have that post-sex glow mixed with heartbreak. Spill. Was it hot? Was it messy?

"Its nothing guys really "

Deep down she knew she wasnt okay