The Divorced Wife And Her Billionaire

The sharp, rapid beeping of the heart monitor sliced through the dead silence of the ICU.

Aurora struggled to open her eyes. Her eyelids felt like they were weighed down by lead. A high fever blurred her vision into a smear of harsh white lights and sterile gray walls.

The duty nurse stepped up to the side of the bed. She adjusted the IV drip, her eyes dropping to Aurora's face. There was a thick layer of pity in the nurse's gaze that made Aurora's stomach turn.

"Mrs. Huffman," the nurse said softly, leaning down. "Your organ failure is progressing. Do you want me to call the emergency contact on your file?"

Aurora bit her pale, cracked lip. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Her pride fought against the suffocating weight of her despair. Her fingers twitched against the thin hospital sheets, but she slowly, weakly, shook her head.

The nurse let out a heavy sigh. She turned and walked out of the room, leaving Aurora completely alone.

Aurora turned her head toward the window. The New York sky was a bleak, unforgiving gray. A violent spasm of pain ripped through her lower back and shot up her spine.

She curled her body inward. Cold sweat instantly soaked through her thin hospital gown, making her shiver uncontrollably.

Her blurred vision slowly focused on the nightstand. Her phone screen was lit up.

A calendar notification sat in the center of the screen. Today was her son Leo's fifth birthday.

The physical ache in her chest from missing her son suddenly overpowered her remaining pride. She reached out with her right arm. The IV needles taped to the back of her hand pulled painfully at her skin.

Her fingertips brushed the cold metal edge of the phone. Her muscles gave out, and the phone slipped, falling onto the very edge of the mattress.

Aurora clamped her jaw shut. She dragged her upper body toward the edge of the bed. Blood backed up into the clear IV tubing, but she didn't care. Her shaking fingers finally closed around the device.

She fell back against the pillow, gasping for air. Her lungs burned. Her thumb trembled as she unlocked the screen.

She opened her contacts and pressed Conrad Huffman's private number.

The dial tone rang in her ear. One ring. Two rings. Every empty beep was a needle scraping against her frayed nerves.

She was just about to let her arm drop when the line clicked open.

But it wasn't Conrad's voice. A wave of loud cheering and the distinct pop of a champagne bottle flooded the speaker.

Then, Jessica Camacho's sweet, high-pitched laugh stabbed directly into Aurora's eardrum.

"Conrad, hurry up! Come help Leo cut the cake!" Jessica yelled over the music.

Aurora's heart seized. It felt like an invisible fist had punched straight through her ribs and crushed her lungs. Her breath stopped entirely.

She forced her dry throat open. "Conrad," she whispered. The sound was so weak it barely