I Refused To Give The Billionaire An Heir
Language: en
I spent three years playing the role of the devoted, brainless shadow to Gavin. He hated using protection. Every time, after it was over, he would sit on the edge of the bed with his bare back to me—a canvas of red scratches I’d left behind—and light a cigarette. He’d say, with the air of a man bestowing a great mercy: "What are you worried about? If you get pregnant, we’ll just get married." A month later, I stared at the two pink lines on the plastic stick. I didn't tell him. Instead, I ghosted him—a clean, clinical, cliff-edge break. Later, he ran into me at a women’s health…