My Husband's Secret Son Needs My Baby to Live - Chapter 10: Chapter 10
You are reading My Husband's Secret Son Needs My Baby to Live, Chapter 10: Chapter 10. Read more chapters of My Husband's Secret Son Needs My Baby to Live.
Another intersection appeared, and the tricycle barely made it through as the light turned green.
Marlon slammed on the gas without hesitation, closing the distance in seconds.
The turning car didn't yield—crashing straight into his black luxury sedan.
The impact forced him to stop, but he still fought his way out of the car, desperate to reach me—until the other driver blocked his path.
"Miss, should we go check on them?"
I shook my head. The collision wasn't serious. He'd be fine.
Our eyes met one last time through the chaos, and I knew she could see the resolve in mine.
News spread fast: Prominent billionaire CEO causes traffic gridlock in reckless red-light chase.
Marlon ended up with a mild concussion—hauled off to the hospital, where paparazzi somehow slipped in, livestreaming every moment.
That night, a clip went viral:
[Marlon Townseed, delirious with fever, calls out for estranged wife Margret Stokes—yet she's nowhere to be found. Is their 20-year marriage over?]
The airport screens flashed the headline as I arranged Jake's travel papers. Mrs. Taylor, childless and kind, had decided to join me.
She sighed at the news. "If he cares so much, why was he with another woman?"
I just smiled.
Men had always been like this—capable of obsession and betrayal in the same breath. Maybe it was hardwired into them.
The rain didn't let up for days.
By the time Marlon woke up, I was already gone.
My lawyer had handled everything—a hefty settlement, even company shares now under my name. His reign of control was finished.
The rest of the assets would take time to untangle, but money wasn't the point. I just wanted out. And I'd gotten exactly that.
Meanwhile, his executives mobbed his hospital room, begging him to salvage the company. Instead, he sat on the bed, meticulously taping together the wedding photos I'd shredded before leaving.
The mighty billionaire CEO, bandaged and hollow-eyed, went live on camera—digging through trash for scraps of our pictures, swearing he'd piece us back together.
He didn't sleep for days. His hands shook. But one fragment stayed missing—the one where my heart should've been.
"Margret," he rasped, raw and broken, "I know what I did. Just… come home."
Marlon slammed on the gas without hesitation, closing the distance in seconds.
The turning car didn't yield—crashing straight into his black luxury sedan.
The impact forced him to stop, but he still fought his way out of the car, desperate to reach me—until the other driver blocked his path.
"Miss, should we go check on them?"
I shook my head. The collision wasn't serious. He'd be fine.
Our eyes met one last time through the chaos, and I knew she could see the resolve in mine.
News spread fast: Prominent billionaire CEO causes traffic gridlock in reckless red-light chase.
Marlon ended up with a mild concussion—hauled off to the hospital, where paparazzi somehow slipped in, livestreaming every moment.
That night, a clip went viral:
[Marlon Townseed, delirious with fever, calls out for estranged wife Margret Stokes—yet she's nowhere to be found. Is their 20-year marriage over?]
The airport screens flashed the headline as I arranged Jake's travel papers. Mrs. Taylor, childless and kind, had decided to join me.
She sighed at the news. "If he cares so much, why was he with another woman?"
I just smiled.
Men had always been like this—capable of obsession and betrayal in the same breath. Maybe it was hardwired into them.
The rain didn't let up for days.
By the time Marlon woke up, I was already gone.
My lawyer had handled everything—a hefty settlement, even company shares now under my name. His reign of control was finished.
The rest of the assets would take time to untangle, but money wasn't the point. I just wanted out. And I'd gotten exactly that.
Meanwhile, his executives mobbed his hospital room, begging him to salvage the company. Instead, he sat on the bed, meticulously taping together the wedding photos I'd shredded before leaving.
The mighty billionaire CEO, bandaged and hollow-eyed, went live on camera—digging through trash for scraps of our pictures, swearing he'd piece us back together.
He didn't sleep for days. His hands shook. But one fragment stayed missing—the one where my heart should've been.
"Margret," he rasped, raw and broken, "I know what I did. Just… come home."
End of My Husband's Secret Son Needs My Baby to Live Chapter 10. Continue reading Chapter 11 or return to My Husband's Secret Son Needs My Baby to Live book page.