The CEO’s Ex-Wife Returns with His Heir

“Care for another round?” Liam Hill’s voice was a low murmur, his breath hot against Emma Roscente’s ear, the teasing lilt edged with a dare that made her skin prickle.

“Get away from me…” Emma managed, flinching at the sharp, lingering ache between her thighs. She shoved against the solid wall of his chest, but he didn’t budge, his presence heavy and inescapable.

“Isn’t this exactly what you orchestrated? Using my grandmother to drag me back into this sham so I’d perform as the devoted husband? Fine. Let’s give the audience what they want. They’re all listening anyway,” Liam shot back, a cold smirk twisting his lips.

“You’re despicable, Liam,” Emma retorted, her face flushing with a humiliated heat.

“Despicable? You want to talk about what’s fair? Remember how this marriage came to be. Don’t you dare preach to me,” he hissed, contempt dripping from every word. Before she could form a reply, his mouth crashed down on hers in a punishing kiss, swallowing any protest she might have had.

A wave of unwanted heat surged through Emma, muddling her thoughts. The sting of his words faded into a dull background hum as she was momentarily swept away by the brutal force of his kiss, her resolve to fight back dissolving.

Liam had despised this union from the start. A mere day after their vows were exchanged, he’d left Paris behind, jetting off to London on Foster Group business. For ten endless months, Emma had become the favorite punchline among Paris’s elite circles.

Everyone knew it—to Liam, she was never his wife, just a placeholder in a life he had no intention of sharing. His return now was solely due to his grandmother, Isabella Klein, who had feigned a serious illness to reel him back into the fold of family duty.

She had once dreamed of their wedding night, picturing it filled with tenderness and whispered promises. Reality, however, was a cruel mockery; Liam’s every touch was laced with anger, his every look with resentment, and her feelings were irrelevant. As she squeezed her eyes shut, silent tears traced paths down her cheeks, a raw testament to her shattered heart.

As the first gray light of dawn crept into the room, the heavy silence was broken by the persistent buzz of Liam’s phone on the nightstand.

He glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor shifted, a thread of concern weaving into his voice. “Olivia? What’s wrong? Don’t cry. I’m on my way.”

In that instant, Emma’s heart plummeted. She knew exactly who was on the other end. A bitter, hollow laugh escaped her. So, Liam is capable of caring for someone. Just not me, the thought carved a fresh wound deep inside.

As he moved to leave, desperation clawed at Emma’s throat. She reached out, her fingers closing around his wrist. “Liam…” her voice was a fragile whisper, trembling with a plea she couldn’t voice. Please, don’t go. Not to her.

He didn’t acknowledge her. Once fully dressed, he delivered his parting blow like a final verdict. “The world may call you Mrs. Hill, but in my eyes, you’ll never be worthy of the title.” With that, he slammed the door shut, leaving her engulfed in a silence that felt like drowning.

Watching the space where he had just been, Emma clutched the rumpled sheets, her knuckles white. Her heart felt wrung out and discarded, an empty, aching void.

She lay there, feeling used and utterly alone, her eyes burning. Yet, she refused to let another tear fall, clinging to the last shreds of her dignity.

For as long as she could remember, she had loved Liam, carrying that secret, painful torch for eight long years.

When the Hill family’s empire had faced a financial storm, the Roscente family’s offer of a marriage alliance had been the perfect lifeline. For Emma, it had felt like a dream coming true—marrying the man she had adored from afar.

The day she put on her wedding dress, she had stared at her reflection, a genuine happiness sparkling in her eyes. In that moment, she felt invincible. “Liam, I’m really going to be your wife,” she had whispered to herself, her heart full of hope.

But the illusion shattered quickly. The truth was, Liam’s heart had always belonged to another—Olivia Evans. That was the root of his disdain, the reason he resented the chains of this marriage. On their wedding night, he had already checked out emotionally.

And now, once again, she was forced to watch him walk away, this time rushing to another woman’s side.

Liam, have you truly forgotten everything you once said to me? You promised you’d marry me. Why did you erase those words from your heart? The ache in her chest was a physical weight. After that night, she didn’t see Liam again.

At Paris General Hospital, the doctor’s kindly smile felt like a small sunbeam in the gloom. “Ms. Roscente, congratulations! You’re pregnant, approximately five weeks along. Make sure to get plenty of rest and schedule a comprehensive check-up at twelve weeks to start your prenatal records.”

Emma held the ultrasound printout in a death grip, her heart hammering against her ribs with a chaotic mix of elation and dread. Will Liam even want this child? The thought was a knife twist.

Stepping out of the consultation room, she sought a quiet alcove to call Liam and share the news. Just then, two nurses walked by, their hushed voices carrying fragments of gossip.

“The head nurse just sent Dr. Chapman to do a pregnancy confirmation for Olivia Evans. Guess the rumors were right—she’s already two months along with Mr. Hill’s baby,” one nurse whispered, a note of glee in her tone.

“Should we really be spreading this? Isn’t Mr. Hill married?” the other nurse replied, skepticism lacing her words.

“I’m telling you, it’s true! I saw Mr. Hill upstairs with Olivia not half an hour ago,” the first nurse insisted, her excitement palpable.

“Honestly, the rich live by their own rules. A marriage certificate means nothing. He’s out there having a baby with his mistress for all to see. I actually feel sorry for the real Mrs. Hill,” the second nurse sighed.

“What’s the point of being married if it’s just a cold contract? With Olivia pregnant, a divorce is definitely coming,” the first nurse stated matter-of-factly.

“No doubt. Everyone knows Mr. Hill skipped town the day after the wedding. Acted like his new bride was a ghost,” the second nurse scoffed.

Emma stood frozen to the spot, the nurses’ words hitting her like physical blows. Her fingers clenched around her phone, the pressure turning her fingertips white.

Once their voices faded down the corridor, she slumped weakly against the cool wall, as if all the strength had been siphoned from her bones. She bit down on her lip until it was pale and bloodless, fighting the tidal wave of emotion threatening to break through. Each word they’d spoken was a fresh laceration on her heart.

Cradling her still-flat abdomen with trembling hands, she whispered into the sterile air, “I thought… maybe with you coming, he might finally look at us.”

But she knew it was a foolish hope. Olivia was already carrying Liam’s child. How could he possibly spare a thought for her and the baby growing inside her?

If I hadn’t felt so dizzy and nauseous today, I’d never have suspected I was pregnant. And now, fate has me overhearing their ‘happy announcement’ in the same hospital.

Stepping outside, a fine, cold drizzle misted her face. She tilted her head back, almost wishing the rain could wash away the numbness, but it only seeped into her clothes, a chilling reminder of her isolation.

The sky was a sheet of oppressive gray, weighing down on her chest, smothering any lingering warmth and leaving her heart feeling constricted and cold.

Emma shoved the ultrasound results deep into her purse and slid into her car, driving off in heavy silence. An hour later, she arrived at Riviera Bay—the luxurious villa that was supposed to be their marital home.

“Mrs. Hill, you’re back!” Sophia, the housekeeper, greeted her with warm concern, hurrying over.