The Billionaire's Script: Faking My Death and Running with His Baby

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After four years as the pampered kept woman of Manhattan's most untouchable billionaire heir, I got pregnant.

When asked if he liked kids, he replied coldly: No. I despise them.

Yet, he immediately turned around and flew out to bring his pregnant one that got away back to the States.

My heart turned ice-cold. I faked my death and ran away with the baby in my belly.

But raising a kid is expensive. To make a living, I became a mommy vlogger online, and accidentally showed my face.

That night, my apartment building was surrounded by men in black suits. Even the doggie door in the back was sealed shut.

The billionaire pinned me against the wall:

"Tessa, you still dare to call yourself a widow whose husband died on the internet?"

My daughter poked her little head out from behind the door: "Mister, my daddy isn't dead. He's just a giant, irresponsible jerk~"

Me: "..."

Shut up, my little menace!!!

I, Tessa Caldwell, was a very dedicated kept woman.

Four years ago, Grayson Sinclairthe untouchable golden boy of Wall Streetrescued me on a stormy night in a rundown Midwest town.

That rescue led straight to his bed.

Everyone in high society said Grayson was utterly heartless, a man who never took the same woman out twice.

But he kept me pampered in his Upper East Side penthouse for four years.

Add up the days and nights, and we must have done it five thousand times.

Thanks to this untouchable god of Wall Street, I entered high society, often shopping with Park Avenue wives and elite socialites.

Right now, they were picking out clothes for themselves.

And me, ever the dedicated professional, was following the billionaire's orders, picking out the lingerie needed for tonight.

I had just swiped the black card for a silk piece when a text came through:

[Too cheap. Texture is bad. Swap it.]

This bastard was monitoring me in real-time! Such high demands!

For the sake of my sugar daddy, I endured it!

Just as I angrily picked out a second piece, I caught a glimpse of a beautiful woman on a nearby billboard.

Underneath it read, Spokesperson: Serena Blair.

I unconsciously murmured the name, and suddenly, a mechanical voice rang out in my head.

It told me I had triggered a keyword, informing me that I was the evil, villainous female side-character in a billionaire romance novel.

I was so shocked I couldn't remember the rest of the plot, except that my character actually gave birth to a daughter.

Bullshit!

Grayson used protection every single time we slept together. How could I possibly be pregnant?

Was this some new, elaborate dark web scam?

But when I finished shopping and returned to the penthouse, I saw Martha the housekeeper's little granddaughter playing in the master bedroom with a sewing kit.

In her tiny hands was a long string of condoms she had poked holes through and strung together.

Clearly, the ones we used previously had suffered the exact same fate.

Me: ?

Am I really just a pawn in the author's sick game?

I fell into deep thought.

This deep thought lasted late into the night.

I didn't even notice when Grayson came back.

He took a shower, and his lean, muscular body pressed against me from the other side of the massive bed.

The warm steam and the gentle kisses landing on the back of my neck snapped me back to reality.

"What are you thinking about?"

Grayson's voice was husky, carrying a lazy nasal tone.

This was his usual little tell when he was aroused.

He was used to being superior and naturally took the initiative.

Every time he wanted it first, he made me beg for it.

But tonight, no matter how good his massaging fingers were, my mind kept wandering.

Grayson was clearly dissatisfied. His large hands gripped my waist, lifting me to lie on top of his chest.

Tickled, I finally opened my teary eyes. "Mr. Sinclair..."

Grayson had been frowning in displeasure, but seeing my pitiful look, he coaxed me in a low voice:

"Baby, what's wrong? Tell me if you're unhappy, hm?"

Thinking of the mechanical voice from the afternoon, I blurted out:

"Nothing, just... will you ever get married?"

According to the system's plot hints, I was the evil side character obsessed with marrying the male lead, Grayson.

In the early stages, while Grayson spent fortunes keeping me, he only used me to vent his physical needs.

The one he truly held in his heart was the female lead fighting for a career in Hollywood, Serena Blair.

Once Serena returned to New York, she would draw all his attention, and he would never look at me again.

These events were foreshadowed in the book.

For example, when I asked about marriage, he would coldly turn hostile.

Sure enough, as soon as I asked, Grayson's voice instantly turned freezing cold, stripped of any warmth:

"Don't talk to me about marriage."

"I never want to hear that word from you again."

Word for word, exactly what the plot hint said.

It seemed my fate as the doomed side character was sealed.

I immediately deflated, unsure if I was disappointed by his words or relieved I found out early.

Being a side character was fine. I had been the unimportant one my whole life anyway.

But being evil and a villain? No way!

That night, Grayson got out of bed after saying that, and didn't sleep in the master bedroom with me.

The next morning, I heard from Martha that he smoked in the study all night.

After that, he didn't come back for half a month.

I had free time to scroll through social media.

Figuring out where to settle down once I left Grayson.

I stumbled upon Chanel's new spring collection, and my finger hovered over the pre-order button.

But then I thought about it. I was a side character destined to be ruthlessly abandoned.

I needed to save the money in my account.

So I angrily typed a comment: [So expensive! Can't afford it!]

An hour later, I received a wire transfer of one million dollars from Grayson.

Me: ?

That bastard. Disappears for half a month because of one question about marriage, and thinks throwing money at it works?!

Then, transfer notifications kept popping up. One million, one million, one million...

A total of 19.99 million dollars.

I immediately leaped off the sofa, put on flawless makeup, and headed out.

I even stopped by a deli to buy some chicken soup that looked homemade.

When I reached the top floor of his company, I heard voices through the slightly ajar office door.

"Serena is coming back to New York. You know, right?"

"Yeah." It was Grayson's cold voice.

"Figures. She definitely told you first. By the way, she seems to know about that little pet you've been keeping..."

The other male voice tried to say more but was cut off by Grayson:

"It doesn't matter. I will deal with it."

My heart skipped a beat.

Deal with me?

I wanted to keep eavesdropping but was interrupted by the secretary behind me.

The office door opened, and the man who was just talking walked out.

It had to be Grayson's childhood friend from the Hamptons. I had seen him in the tabloids.

But Grayson never introduced me to his friends, so I didn't know him personally.

Thinking about it now, it was probably because I was just a side character, unworthy of introductions.

Driven by curiosity, I turned my head to look at the man a few more times.

When I turned back, I met Grayson's ice-cold glare.

I thought about the massive wire transfers and remembered you don't bite the hand that feeds you. I smiled sweetly and leaned in:

"Mr. Sinclair, you've been so busy lately. Are you tired?"

Grayson didn't say a word. He reached back, shut the door, and locked it.

He turned around, picked me up, and set me down on his massive mahogany desk.

After four years of being intimately connected, Grayson knew me inside and out.

"The moment you step out, you stare at other men, but you won't even look your own man in the eye?"

"While I wasn't home, you didn't call or text once. Seems you didn't miss me at all?"

"Tessa, you're begging to be punished, aren't you?"

I couldn't hear what he was saying. Fireworks seemed to explode behind my eyes.

In my daze, I whimpered and cursed, "Grayson Sinclair, you huge jerk! Ughhh!"

"Do your employees and fangirls know you like bunny ears in bed?!"

"Your technique sucks! Are you getting old and useless?!"

Saying the wrong thing leads to a miserable end.

Terrified we were making too much noise and people outside would hear, I quickly swallowed my pride and begged for mercy.

"Okay, okay, you're very useful."

"Grayson, you're not old. Daddy! You're my daddy!"

"Daddy, daddy!"

As soon as the words left my mouth, the veins on Grayson's neck bulged with excitement.

He lowered his head and kissed me fiercely.

??

Wait, why did that turn him on even more?

The one being stimulated was soon me.

I was pregnant.

When I walked out of the office that day on wobbly legs, my lower abdomen felt sore and heavy.

I took a test. Two pink lines.

It seemed I was already pregnant. You really can't fight the plot.

The mechanical voice in my head told me that next, I would give birth to a daughter.

Then, out of jealousy, I would psychotically swap my daughter with Serena's daughter and abuse the kid.

After a series of baby-swap drama, I would be exposed, and both kids would end up loving Serena.

Grayson would hate me to the bone, refusing to even look at me.

Finally, I'd be thrown into an underground auction ring, tortured for life, wishing for death.

My face went pale. I sat down and took a long time to recover.

I immediately made the decision to leave right now.

The baby was mine. I didn't want to be like my own mother, who abandoned her biological child because she hated my father.

The money I had was enough to raise my child.

I packed a few essentials and left the penthouse under the cover of night.

Unfortunately, my first escape attempt didn't go smoothly.

I planned to land in Miami first and then catch a connecting flight.

But as soon as I got off the plane, someone was waiting for me at the exit. It was Grayson's personal assistant.

"Ms. Caldwell, Mr. Sinclair said you left in a hurry and probably forgot some essentials, so he sent me to buy them for you."

He handed me a connected phone.

I took it stiffly.

Through the receiver, Grayson's deep voice came:

"Leaving so suddenly. Wanted to take a vacation?"

"...Yeah," I tried to sound natural. "I was bored at home, and you weren't coming back. Where are you?"

"In Europe. Handling some business."

I knew he went to bring back a pregnant Serena.

Playing dumb, I asked, "What business?"

"Company matters."

I fell silent for a few seconds. My lowered gaze landed on my stomach, and I suddenly spoke up.

"Grayson, do you like kids?"

It was quiet on Grayson's end for a moment.

Then came a few clearly displeased words:

"No. I despise them."

I froze.

Then I smiled in relief. "What a coincidence. Me too."