Never Fall for a Billionaire

Sophie Brown came back from abroad a day early. As soon as she got home, she spotted a pair of red high heels in the entryway.

She froze for a few seconds. The shoes clearly weren't hers, and Preston Davis never liked having outsiders at the house.

Sophie put down her bag and walked further inside. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and voices drifted out from within.

"Preston, now that I'm pregnant with your child, when are you planning to ask Sophie for a divorce?" came a woman's soft, delicate voice.

Sophie's hand, about to push the door open, stopped mid-air. She stood there, stunned.

She recognized that voice. It was Elena Watson, Preston's childhood friend.

When Sophie and Preston got married, Elena had gone abroad. Now she was not only back, but pregnant with her husband's child.

Sophie had known nothing about it.

"Elena, I'm not planning to divorce," Preston's voice was low.

"Not divorcing? Then what about me?" Elena complained tearfully. "Preston, I've known you longer than Sophie has. When you got married, I didn't cry or make a fuss—I went abroad alone. Now I'm pregnant. Even if you won't think about me, you have to think about our child, right? You can't let him grow up without a father from the day he's born..."

Standing outside the door, Sophie's hands trembled uncontrollably. She felt like she'd been struck by lightning.

She never imagined that the man everyone saw as a good husband was secretly with another woman.

The room went quiet for a few seconds, then came Elena's moans and Preston's heavy breathing.

"Preston, you clearly love me too. You said sleeping with me is more exciting than with Sophie," Elena's voice carried a note of provocation.

"Don't talk..."

Preston's voice was hoarse, followed by wave after wave of Elena's moaning.

Sophie's hand slid off the doorknob. She didn't have the courage to push open that door, and couldn't stand the sounds coming from inside. She turned around, lost and devastated, walked back to the living room, and collapsed onto the sofa.

The coffee table's reflection showed a pale face.

Sophie looked at that face, her eyes gradually growing moist.

Five years ago when she married Preston, everyone said she must have been lucky in her past life.

The Davis family was one of the top families in high society. Preston was an only child, Harvard graduate, took over the family business at thirty, worth billions. He wasn't like those playboy types who partied constantly—he was known in their circle for being faithful, never even had a scandal.

This perfect man had rejected all other women and pursued Sophie intensely.

On their wedding day, Preston said in front of everyone, "Sophie, I will spend the rest of my life loving you."

Sophie was deeply moved, feeling like the happiest woman in the world.

For him, she gave up the chance to study in France and devoted herself wholeheartedly to being a housewife.

They'd been married five years without children. Preston always told her to wait a bit longer—wait until the company was stable, wait until he wasn't so busy.

Only now did Sophie understand—he was waiting to settle things with his childhood sweetheart Elena.

Sophie wandered aimlessly down the street. People came and went, shop windows brightly lit.

But she didn't know where to go. She randomly picked a roadside café, sat down, and ordered a hot chocolate—something Preston often ordered for her.

Just then, her phone rang.

It was Preston calling.

She looked at the name on the screen, remembering everything she'd heard outside the room, her heart aching again.

The phone rang for a long time before she answered.

"Sophie, did you arrive in Paris?" Preston's voice was as deep and gentle as always, full of affection.

"Yes," Sophie's voice was low. She didn't tell Preston she'd come back early.

"Is it cold there? I saw the weather forecast said it's getting colder today," Preston asked with concern.

"It's okay."

"Get some rest tonight. I'll pick you up at the station tomorrow when you get back."

"Okay." Sophie hung up.

The server brought the hot chocolate. She picked it up and took a sip.

Too sweet. Sickeningly sweet.

Preston didn't know that she didn't actually like sweet drinks. She was just used to nodding along with whatever he said.

Actually, even before today, someone had told her Preston was cheating.

About a week ago, Sophie received an anonymous text.

[Your husband and Elena Watson stayed in an apartment for three hours. They didn't leave until 1 AM yesterday.]

Sophie hadn't taken it seriously at the time.

She knew about Elena.

Preston's childhood friend. Their families were old friends, they'd grown up together.

Elena was two years younger than Preston and had always followed him around since they were kids.

When Preston got married, Elena even served as a bridesmaid. When toasting, she said with red-rimmed eyes, "Preston, you must be happy."

Sophie thought they were just really close friends.

After all, Elena had dated someone later—found a French guy and even opened an art gallery on the Left Bank.

Turns out, they'd never stopped being in touch.

More than half the hot chocolate remained in the cup.

Sophie felt nauseated by the sickly sweet smell, her stomach churning.

She covered her mouth, forcing down the nausea, and stood up to leave.

The moment she stood, everything went black, then the world spun. She couldn't keep her balance.

Sophie fell heavily against the table, the hot chocolate cup crashing to the floor.

"Miss? Are you alright?" The server rushed over.

Sophie opened her mouth, about to ask them to call an ambulance, but her consciousness was fading fast. Soon she passed out.

When Sophie opened her eyes again, she found herself lying in a hospital bed.

"You're finally awake!" A young nurse beside her was reviewing her medical chart. "You fainted in the café and hit your head on the table corner. Your forehead is a bit bruised, but it's not serious."

The nurse continued, "Really, when you're pregnant you should be more careful. How could you go to a café alone?"

Sophie froze, her mind buzzing. She looked at the nurse in disbelief. "What did you say?"

"What? You didn't know?" The nurse frowned. "You're eight weeks pregnant."

Sophie felt thunderstruck. She instinctively placed her hand on her belly, never imagining that a new life was growing there.

On the day she discovered her husband's affair, she found out she was pregnant.

For this long-awaited child, Sophie felt nothing but bitter irony.

"Where's your husband? Call him to pick you up and take you home," the nurse urged.

Sophie thought of Preston, currently tangled up with another woman. Her spirits instantly sank. "I don't have a husband. We're divorced."