The Billionaire's Secret Heir: Sign the Divorce

The fluorescent lights of the private hospital bathroom hummed with a low, irritating buzz that seemed to vibrate against Claudia Valentine's skull. She sat on the closed lid of the toilet, her hands gripping the edge of the porcelain so hard her knuckles had turned the color of bone.

On the counter, resting on a square of toilet paper, was the plastic stick.

It had been three minutes. The instructions said three minutes.

She didn't want to look. If she didn't look, the reality sitting in the test window didn't exist yet. If she didn't look, she was still just Claudia Valentine, the wife of Ezequiel Sanford, living a cold but predictable life.

Claudia forced her eyes open. She forced them to focus on the small display window.

One pink line. That was the control. That was normal.

Then, slowly, agonizingly, a second pink line ghosted into existence right next to it. It darkened with every second that ticked by on her watch.

Two lines.

A sound tried to escape her throat, a whimper or a gasp, but she slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle it. The air in the small room suddenly felt too thin, like all the oxygen had been sucked out by the ventilation fan.

Pregnant.

She was pregnant.

For three years, Claudia had navigated the frozen landscape of her marriage to Ezequiel. They slept in the same bed, but miles apart. They attended galas, his hand on the small of her back only when cameras were flashing, his touch burning and impersonal.

And now, this. A child. A Sanford heir.

Her hand trembled as she reached out and grabbed the stick. She couldn't leave it here. She couldn't let anyone see it. She shoved it deep into the inner zippered pocket of her purse, burying it beneath receipts and lipsticks.

Claudia stood up and faced the mirror. Her reflection looked pale, the dark circles under her eyes stark against her skin. She ran the tap, splashing freezing water onto her face, trying to shock her system back into functionality. She practiced the expression she had perfected over the last thousand days.

Chin up. Eyes blank. Lips pressed into a neutral line.

The mask of Mrs. Ezequiel Sanford.

She unlocked the door and stepped out into the hallway. The hospital smell-antiseptic and floor wax-hit her, making her stomach roll. She wasn't sure if it was the nerves or the morning sickness kicking in early.

A nurse in blue scrubs rounded the corner, nearly colliding with her. She was walking fast, holding a tray of IV bags.

"Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Sanford," she said, breathless. She recognized Claudia. Everyone in this hospital recognized the Sanford name; Ezequiel's family practically built the west wing. "I'm so sorry, we have an emergency in the VIP section."

The nurse didn't wait for a response, rushing past her toward the end of the corridor.

Claudia's feet moved on their own accord. She shouldn't look. She should turn left, toward the