Page 53 of A Baby For Her Billionaire BFF

“Good morning,” I murmur as I settle in, but the words fall flat, dissipating into the chilled silence of the room.

Oliver doesn’t look up. He doesn’t acknowledge me. It’s as if I’m just another piece of furniture, and the purposefulness of his disregard is palpable.

Throughout the meeting, I present my points with practiced precision, yet my voice sounds foreign to my own ears. It’s a mask of professionalism hiding the turmoil churning inside me. I steal glances at Oliver, hoping for any recognition, any sign that he still cares. But he remains impassive, his gaze barely meeting mine, his eyes an unfathomable steel that offers no comfort or connection.

It shatters something within me, a tiny crack in my resolve widening until I can hardly bear it. The man I once knew, who’d look at me with warmth and promise, seems to have vanished, leaving behind this cold stranger who shares his face.

Silently, I plead with him to show me something, anything, that might suggest he doesn’t want this to be the end. But there’s nothing, just the sterile click of keyboards and the dry rustle of papers being turned. The meeting drags on, and with each passing second, the distance between us grows until it feels insurmountable.

By the time I return to my office, the decision crystallizes in my heart like ice. I need to quit. It’s a terrifying thought, not just because it means walking away from a job that pays extremely well, but because it feels like I’m severing the last thread connecting me to Oliver.

I sit back in my chair, my hands trembling as I contemplate the enormity of what I’m about to do. Financially, it’s insanity. I have high rent, student loans, and now, a baby on the way. But how can I stay? Every minute in this building is a reminder of what we’ve lost, of the future we could have had together.

“Think about the baby,” I whisper to myself, my hand instinctively resting on my still-flat stomach.

This isn’t just about my broken heart; it’s about creating a life where stress doesn’t overshadow every moment, where I’m not constantly reminded of Oliver’s indifference.

Taking a deep breath, I open my laptop and start typing my resignation letter. With each word, I feel a mix of liberation and dire apprehension, but I know this is the right choice — for my peace of mind, for my well-being, and for the tiny life growing inside me.

Sitting back, I read the email over to myself. All of the right words are there, and it’s polite and concise. Except something is missing.

The human element.

I want to quit to Oliver’s face. Want to see his reaction. And, as much as this might not be healthy for me or kind, I want to see at least a sliver of hurt. I want him to regret the way he’s reacted to this pregnancy.

So, standing, I smooth my blouse and head out of my office. With each step, I feel shakier, but there’s no turning back. If I walk away from this job after quitting via email, there’s a good chance I’ll never see Oliver again.

I stride into his office, my heartbeat echoing in my ears like a drum. His head snaps up from the papers scattered across his desk, surprise flickering across his features for just a moment before he schools them into that facade I’ve come to dread — the one void of any warmth.

“Oliver.” Somehow, my voice holds steady despite the storm raging inside me. “I’m quitting.”

“Quitting?” He repeats the word as if it’s a foreign language, and his eyes search mine for an explanation.

“Yes.” I clutch the printed resignation letter. “It’s clear that our personal situation… it’s not working out. You don’t want to be involved with the baby… or me. It’s best if I just leave.” The truth is a bitter pill, jagged and hard to swallow.

For a split second, there’s a flash of something human behind his eyes — pain, regret, maybe? But it’s gone as quick as it came, replaced with a cold indifference that raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

“Fine,” he says, the word slicing through the tension in the room. “I will support you and the baby financially. You don’t have to worry about that.”

His robotic response, devoid of any real concern, cements my decision. It’s like he’s offering alimony without the marriage, a monthly check in place of love and commitment. And God, it stings.

“Thanks,” I manage, but it’s a whisper, forced and empty. I won’t let him see the hurt, won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s wounded me so deeply.

I don’t wait for him to say anything else. I can’t. Not when every instinct screams at me to flee before the dam breaks and the tears start to flow. So I turn sharply on my heel and walk out, my hands shaking.

I keep my pace even as I navigate the maze of cubicles, ignoring the curious glances from my soon-to-be former colleagues. I can feel Oliver’s presence looming behind me, although I know he hasn’t moved from his chair.

Once I’m safely in the elevator, the metal walls feel like the only thing keeping me upright. As the doors slide closed, sealing away the life I thought I wanted, a single tear escapes, tracing a hot path down my cheek. I swipe it away fiercely, a silent vow made to the tiny heartbeat fluttering within me: I’ll build us a better future, one where we’re wanted, treasured, and loved.

Just you and me, little one.

CHAPTER 27

OLIVER

My fingers hover over the keyboard, the numbers and letters blurring into a meaningless jumble. It’s been hours since Nora walked out of the office — and effectively out of my life — but her absence crushes me more with each passing minute. I tell myself it’s for the best; she deserves someone who can give her everything she wants, everything she deserves.

Her parting words were only part of the story. Her posture and the cutting look in her eyes said the rest: she hates me now and doesn’t even want me to be a part of the baby’s life.

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