Ruined By The Billionaires Love

Arabella POV

The clock on the bathroom wall ticks away like the seconds are trying to choke me. I can feel the weight of my pulse in my throat, every beat a reminder of what I'm about to face.

I hold my breath as the test sits there in front of me, the pale pink lines mocking me. The words on the box, pregnancy test seem foreign. Not real. As though they don't apply to me, like they belong to some other woman. Some woman who isn't standing here, shaking, watching her world about to split in two.

I glance down at the test, then at the floor. I don't want to see it. I don't want to know. I don't want to be here, doing this, feeling this. But I can't stop myself.

Why did I even get this test?

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Should I even go through with it? What if I'm not ready? What if he's not ready?

Everything about this moment feels wrong. The weight of it feels like it's closing in on me, suffocating me in a way I can't explain.

I force myself to focus. I stare at the tip of the test, watch the liquid soak into the lines. One... two... three... four... five... six... I count in my head, as if making it go slower could change the outcome.

But it won't.

My hands tremble, and I force myself to snap the cap back onto the test. I place it on the counter. My phone timer starts. Five minutes. That's all. Five minutes, and I'll know.

Five minutes and everything could change.

Five minutes and everything could stay the same.

My fingers itch to check it, but I can't. If I look, it'll be real. If I look, I'll know.

I stare at the clock instead, willing the seconds to slow down, to give me a little more time to breathe. But the universe doesn't care about what I want. It doesn't care about my fear or my uncertainty. It's just ticking away, taking me closer to the truth.

I close my eyes again. Squeeze them shut tight. Maybe if I pretend I don't care, it won't matter. Maybe it won't change anything. But deep down, I know that's a lie.

Five minutes.

I can feel it. The weight in my chest, like everything is too heavy. I finally open my eyes, not daring to look at the test. I glance at myself in the mirror instead.

The woman staring back at me looks... lost. I barely recognize her. There's fear, hope, doubt. So much doubt. She's hanging on by a thread, and that thread is unraveling with every second that passes.

What will happen if I'm pregnant? What if he doesn't want it? What if this was never meant to be?

I close my eyes again, squeezing the tears that are threatening to fall. But they're right there, at the edge, waiting. A lump rises in my throat, and I force myself to breathe through it.

The timer dings.

Five minutes.

I can't do this. I can't.

But I have to.

I look at the test, the pink lines.

There it is. Two lines. One solid. One faint.

My heart stops.

I'm pregnant.

I blink, my breath hitching. The reality of it is like a slap across the face. I stand there, frozen, staring at the test. I feel the flood of emotions rush in-elation, fear, joy, dread. It's all tangled up, and I can't separate one from the other.

I can't breathe.

But then it hits me. A laugh. A breathless, shaky laugh escapes me. I'm pregnant.

I should be jumping for joy, but instead, my chest tightens, and my smile fades.

What about him?

What about Richard?

This isn't just about me anymore. This is about us.

I grab the test, throw it into the trash, and rush out of the bathroom. My heart is hammering, and my hands are shaking. I can't wait to see him. I can't wait to tell him.