My CEO Husband Dumped Me For A Model — He Didn’t Know His Worst Enemy Was Waiting

Part 1

The rain in Seattle doesn’t wash things clean.

It just makes the grime stick harder.

That was exactly how I felt sitting across from Brian in the corner booth of the upscale restaurant where he had proposed to me four years ago.

The velvet booth felt suffocating.

The smell of truffle oil was making me nauseous.

I hadn’t told him about the baby yet.

I wanted tonight to be perfect.

I am leaving, Brenda.

He didn’t stutter.

He didn’t even look down at his untouched risotto.

He looked right at me.

His blue eyes were cold and completely devoid of the warmth I used to get lost in.

Brian Hughes treated our marriage like a failing stock.

He was dumping it before the crash.

My hand instinctively hovered over my stomach beneath the table.

Leaving?

We just bought the house in the suburbs.

Brian sighed.

He checked his expensive watch.

I had saved for two years to buy him that watch for his thirtieth birthday.

The house is in my name, Brenda.

And you know how ironclad the prenup is.

I have already had my lawyers draft the separation agreement.

It is a generous ten thousand dollars.

That should be enough to get you set up somewhere modest.

Modest.

My voice cracked.

Is there someone else?

He smirked with a cruel, arrogant tilt of his lips.

Megan.

Her father is sitting on the board of the merger commission.

You understand, right?

You were great for the startup phase, Brenda.

You were supportive when I was coding in the garage.

But Megan fits the future.

The brutality of it took the air out of my lungs.

I wasn’t a wife.

I was a deprecated feature in his software.

I am pregnant.

I whispered the words, hoping for a shred of decency.

Brian paused for a second.

I thought I saw a flicker of humanity.

He took a sip of his wine.

He swirled it and set the glass down.

That is unfortunate timing.

It does not change anything.

If you decide to keep it, that is your choice.

Do not expect me to play daddy.

My lawyers will handle child support to the legal minimum.

I want no custody.

Megan and I are starting fresh.

I do not need baggage.

Baggage.

That was the last word he said to me as a husband.

He stood up.

He dropped a few hundred-dollar bills on the table to cover the meal he hadn’t eaten.

He walked out of the restaurant.

He stepped into a waiting black SUV.

I sat there for an hour until the waiter gently asked if I wanted the check.

I walked out into the rain.

The cold water soaked through my coat.

I hailed a cab to a cheap motel on the outskirts of the city.

That night, I looked at the ceiling fan wobbling overhead.

I had seventeen dollars in my checking account.

Brian had drained our joint savings for an investment two days prior.

I was twenty-eight, pregnant, homeless, and alone.

As I curled around my stomach, a fire ignited in my chest.

It wasn’t hope.

It was pure, cold rage.

He thinks you are baggage.

I whispered to the life growing inside me.

We are going to show him.

Six months later, the fire had dimmed to a flicker of survival.

Pregnancy was hard on a good day.

When you were working double shifts as a hotel maid while living in a closet-sized apartment, it was torture.

My ankles were permanently swollen.

Every time I bent down to scrub a toilet, I followed Brian’s life through the discarded magazines guests left behind.

His tech giant was going public.

Photos showed Brian looking tanned and triumphant.

His arm was around Megan.

She looked like a porcelain doll draped in diamonds.

One rainy Tuesday, I was assigned to the penthouse suite.

I was seven months pregnant.

My belly was prominent beneath my gray uniform.

I was scrubbing the marble countertop of the wet bar.

I didn’t hear him come in.

Leave the scotch.

I will pour it myself.

A deep, gravelly voice spoke from behind me.

I jumped and dropped the rag.

I turned around clumsily.

My hand braced my lower back.

Standing in the entryway was a man who looked like he was carved out of granite.

He was older than Brian, maybe in his early forties.

His dark eyes were terrifyingly intelligent.

Everyone in Seattle knew him.

Greg Robinson.

He was the old-money predator of the corporate world.

He was also Brian Hughes’s sworn enemy.

Five years ago, Brian had worked for Greg.

Brian had stolen proprietary code and nearly bankrupted Greg’s firm.

The feud was legendary.

I apologize, Mr. Robinson.

I stammered and bent awkwardly to pick up the rag.

Greg watched me.

His eyes narrowed.

He didn’t look at my uniform.

He looked at my face.

His gaze dropped to my stomach, then back to my eyes.

He took a step forward.

The air in the room suddenly grew heavy with tension.

You look familiar.

His voice was low.

I am just the maid, sir.

I tried to retreat to the door.

No.

Greg blocked my path.

He wasn’t being aggressive, just authoritative.

He studied me like I was a complex contract.

I never forget a face.

You are Brenda, Brian Hughes’s wife.

Ex-wife.

I corrected him.

My chin lifted slightly despite my fear.

Greg’s eyes drifted to my belly again.

And that is none of your business.

I stepped back quickly.

I crossed my arms tightly over my swollen stomach.

And none of yours.

Greg stared at me for a long, agonizing minute.

Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

It was a dry, humorless sound.

He walked over to the bar.

He poured two glasses of water, not scotch.

He held one out to me.

Sit down, Brenda.

He commanded.

I have to finish the room.

I bought the hotel this morning.

Greg said casually.

Sit down.

I sat on the edge of the velvet sofa.

Greg sat opposite me.

Brian is currently honeymooning in the Maldives.

While you are scrubbing toilets, carrying his child.

Is that an accurate summary?

I am managing.

I said tight-lipped.

You are drowning.

Greg corrected.

I know Brian.

I know he left you with nothing because he enjoys total victories.

He didn’t just want to leave you.

He wanted to erase you.

He thinks you are weak.

I am not weak.

No.

Greg agreed, looking at my swollen hands.

You are not.

You are resilient.

But resilience does not pay for diapers or college tuition.

Brian just announced his quarterly earnings.

His company is worth billions.

He does not want the baby.

I argued.

He does not want the burden.

But wait until he finds out the baby is a boy.

Greg said sharply.

Wait until Megan refuses to ruin her figure with a pregnancy.

Brian is a narcissist.

Eventually, he will want an heir.

And he will come for yours.

I felt a cold chill.

He gave up his rights.

Brian buys judges like he buys shoes.

Greg scoffed.

If he wants the boy, he will take him.

Unless?

I whispered.

Greg leaned back.

A shark-like grin spread across his face.

My jaw dropped as I stared at my swollen stomach, and then Greg said, “Marry me, Brenda, and I will adopt this boy to crush him.”