He was married to a woman he wanted nothing to do with. A cold and heartless billionaire, forced into a marriage he never desired—all because of a business deal set up by his parents. They had never cared about what he wanted, only about expanding their empire and securing their wealth.

The marriage was nothing but a lifeless contract, built on obligation rather than love. He made it clear from the start—he would never love her. He had no interest in playing the role of a husband, let alone pretending to care. He avoided her at all costs, spending ridiculous hours at the office or locking himself away in his home office. The less he saw of her, the better.

Then, the worst happened.

She got pregnant. With his baby.

It was a mistake—a drunken night neither of them should’ve allowed to happen. But it did. And now, she was carrying his child.

The moment she told him, he snapped. Accused her of lying, of making up some pathetic story for attention. He refused to believe it, refused to acknowledge any part of it. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t even be involved. He didn’t take her to her baby checkups, didn’t ask how she was feeling, didn’t even care. That responsibility was passed to his bodyguards.

He didn’t want a child. He didn’t want her.

She was a stranger, a woman he never planned to have a future with, and now she was bound to him in the worst way possible.

That night, he found her in the kitchen, cooking dinner despite everything. It was ridiculous—why did she bother? He had made his hatred clear.

She looked up at him as he entered, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

"I found out the gender of our baby at the doctor’s today. It’s a baby girl."

He stood there, silent. Watching. Studying her. He could see the flicker of hope in her eyes, waiting for him to say something, to react. But he felt nothing.

Without a word, he turned and walked away, ignoring her presence as if she didn’t exist.