The Billionaire Who Timed My Love And Gave Hers For Free Chapter 04

The Billionaire Who Timed My Love And Gave Hers For Free Chapter 04

The rain had gotten worse by the time I left Whitmore Group.

Every drop of it sharpened the ache in my stomach.

The law firm’s confirmation came through on my phone.

[Tomorrow, three p.m.]

I stared at it for a long time, and something under my feet shifted. Steadied. Like finding the floor after months of falling.

Leaving someone doesn’t require screaming or slamming doors.

It took a single click.

I made it home a little after six, already running a fever.

The face in the bathroom mirror didn’t look like mine. Too pale. Too hollow.

The rain had dried into my skirt, cold fabric plastered to my legs. A souvenir of how pathetic I’d looked in that lobby.

Julian’s text was still pinned at the top of my screen.

[Don’t wait up tonight. Project debrief after the meeting.]

I read it again and almost laughed.

Even my thirty minutes could be canceled without notice.

I flipped my phone over. I didn’t want to see it anymore.

Then a new kind of pain hit: low, dragging, deep in my pelvis.

Not like the stomach cramps. This one was a heavy, dragging ache, pulling downward like something inside me was tearing loose.

I leaned against the wall until I could stand straight. Then I called an Uber and went to the hospital. Alone. Again.

The doctor looked up from the results.

“You’re six weeks pregnant.”

I went still.

The first thing I felt wasn’t joy.

It was confusion.

Julian and I hadn’t had a real conversation in months. A baby wasn’t something either of us had planned.

But when I held that flimsy piece of paper, something caught fire in my chest anyway.

A tiny spark of hope, like a match struck in the dark.

The doctor’s expression turned serious.

“Your numbers aren’t stable. You need someone here with you tonight. No stress, no overexertion. I mean it.”

I checked my phone. 6:47.

Thirteen minutes until Julian’s window opened.

But tonight, he’d told me not to bother with even that.

I stared at the screen for a long time. Then, for the first time, I broke his rules.

I called. No answer.

Called again. Nothing.

The third time, it rang until it went to voicemail.

My fingers were going numb around the test results. I gave up calling and sent one message.

[Julian, I’m at the hospital.]

A long silence. Then a reply.

[What happened?]

My throat closed.

[It’s important. Please.]

Thirty more seconds of nothing.

Then:

[Talk at seven.]

I read those three words until my vision blurred. Every breath felt like inhaling shattered glass.

He’d seen the message. He knew I was in a hospital.

He just believed that whatever was happening to me could wait for its assigned slot.

Seven o’clock. My phone vibrated.

Julian’s call. Right on schedule.

Noise on his end: clinking glasses, voices. Some kind of private dinner.

Sloane’s voice hit me first.

“Mr. Whitmore, I really can’t drink any more.”

Then Julian, low and close to the phone:

“Don’t push it. Hand me the glass.”

The test results crumpled in my fist.

“Julian. I’m at the hospital.”

A pause.

“You said that in your text.”

“My time started at seven. Get to the point.”

My fingernails bit into my palm.

“I’m preg…”

Sloane broke into a coughing fit on his end, half-crying.

“Mr. Whitmore, I’m making things worse again, aren’t I? Mara’s going to hate me.”

Julian sighed.

“Mara, a client cornered Sloane into drinking. I’m handling it.”

“If it’s not an emergency, don’t pick right now to remind me you exist.”

I opened my mouth.

I doubled over as the pain in my pelvis flared violently.

I grabbed the corridor wall. I broke into a cold sweat.

“Julian, it hurts.”

“Then find a doctor. What am I gonna do over the phone?”

He hung up.

7:08 p.m.

I called back. No answer.

The nurse found me crouched outside the bathroom. Blood had soaked through the hem of my skirt.

She yelled for help before I could say a word.

They wheeled me into the ER. I was still holding my phone.

The screen lit up. Went dark. Lit up. Went dark.

Not a single call.

I woke up just before dawn.

The doctor was standing by the bed. She kept her voice low.

“I’m sorry. We couldn’t save the baby.”

I stared at the ceiling. White. Blank. My eyes stayed dry.

There’s a place past crying. I was in it.

I got home the next morning. The house was empty.

I walked into Julian’s study, and the motion light clicked on.

I set them on his desk, one by one. The test results. The medical records. The ultrasound printout that never got to be a surprise.

Last, my wedding ring. Right on his keyboard.

I opened our shared calendar.

I selected the recurring appointment, 7:00 to 7:30 p.m. every day for three years, and hit delete.

[Delete all future events?]

I pressed confirm.

Then I opened our text thread and typed:

[Julian, you won’t have to make time for me anymore.]

[My lawyer will send the divorce papers.]

[Our baby is gone.]

[Don’t worry. From the moment it existed to the moment it didn’t, the baby never took up a single minute of your time.]