Billionaire’s Secret Child

Aurora

They say time heals everything. Lies. Time only covers up the pain like cheap makeup. The truth is just waiting for a moment of carelessness to start bleeding again.

I was standing in front of the mirrored building of Simmons Corporation, in the heart of São Paulo, trying to swallow my pride, which was about to be crushed. A security guard was eyeing me like I was a threat, but no one there realized that the real danger at that moment was the possibility of my losing my son.

Miguel is dying. No one said that word, but I could tell from the doctors’ looks, from the unspoken hints in the test results, from the uncomfortable silence whenever I asked about timelines. The public healthcare waiting list was a cruel joke. The treatment existed. It was within reach of those with millions in the bank—or those who knew someone who did.

I knew someone. And I hated it.

I rode the elevator to the top floor, my stomach churning. Not because I was nervous. I was way past the stage of nerves. This was something deeper. This was desperation.

When the doors opened, the assistant didn’t even have time to stop me. I marched straight into the office.

He was there. Paul Simmons. My ex-husband. The man who turned his back on me when I needed him most. The man who called me a liar. A gold digger. Anything but the mother of his child.

He looked at me as if he’d seen a ghost. Then his expression changed. Cold. Polite disdain. Paul was in a dark suit, a costly watch, and a faint American accent still clinging to his tongue.

“Aurora?” he said, like my name was something filthy stuck in his mouth.

“I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.”

He leaned back in his swivel chair and crossed his arms, pretending to think.

“Let me guess—you knew I’d be here because you saw me on TV, didn’t you?” he said. “At the event yesterday.”

I nodded. Lying wasn’t worth it. I had seen him. Smiling, surrounded by flashing cameras, he sells the world his image as the visionary businessman. A performance. And in that moment, I knew: if he was here in Brazil, he was my only chance.

“I’m not here for myself,” I began. “It’s my son. He’s sick. Really sick. I need help for a treatment. I have nowhere else to turn. Only you can—”

“And why would I help you, Aurora?”

The question cut like a knife. But I was expecting it.

“Because you can. Because you’re the only person who can.”

He let out a dry, mocking laugh.

“That’s never stopped you from hating me. What happened to all that pride?”

I swallowed hard. I wanted to scream. Hit him. Say it wasn’t fair. But I wasn’t here for fairness.

I took a deep breath. Miguel. Think of Miguel.

“You’re right,” I admitted, my voice barely coming out, but I forced it. “I did hate you. Maybe I still hate you a little. But that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that Miguel is sick.”

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning me like I was a business deal.

“And what do I get out of this?”

I swallowed hard again. I knew he wouldn’t do anything for free. Paul never did.

“I… I don’t have money. But I can repay you in another way.”

He smiled, slow and calculating.

“You were always smart, Aurora.” He stood and walked to the window, his hands in the pockets of his immaculate suit. “If it’s money you want, you’ll have to accept my terms.”

My stomach twisted.

“What are they?” I asked, my voice low.

“Will you do anything?” He stepped closer, his eyes locked on mine. “Because that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”

I closed my eyes for a second. I saw my son’s face. The IV is slowly dripping in the hospital. His weak smile. He trusted me. “Anything,” I whispered. “Hate me, humiliate me, but save my son.”

Paul watched me in silence. For a moment, I thought he might back down. But no. He smiled. That same smile that always came right before cruelty.

He walked over to the desk and sat on the edge, like he was inspecting an auction item about to be sold off. “I want you,” he said, simple and direct, as if he were talking about the weather. “At my disposal. Whenever I want. Wherever I want.”

I felt the ground disappear beneath my feet, but I forced myself to stay standing. “As… what?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

He leaned closer, his eyes locked onto my face. “As my distraction. My entertainment. The woman who once dared to betray me and is now crawling back for money. I want to see how far your dignity goes.”

This wasn’t a deal. It was punishment.

“And Miguel?” I asked, my voice trembling before I could stop it.

“The kid?” Paul shrugged, like he was talking about an abandoned dog. “Your son is not my problem. You’ve got your parents, don’t you? They can take care of him while you… have fun with me.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t trust my voice.

“I don’t want to know anything about that kid. I don’t want to see him or hear his name,” he said. “I don’t want to be forced to look at him and remember that you slept with another man while you were married to me.”

The words hit me like a slap. They hurt more than I’d expected. My blood seemed to boil in my veins. I wanted to scream. To spit in his face. But Miguel needed that treatment. And I was way past the point of having a choice.

“And if I agree… you’ll cover everything?” I asked, my voice steadier than I expected.

“If you accept my conditions,” he continued, now calmer, “my lawyer will handle everything. Your son’s treatment will be paid for. Private, abroad if necessary. But in exchange, you’ll be mine. No questions. No limits.”

“And when you get tired of me?” I asked, barely recognizing my voice.

“When I get tired… you’ll leave. The same way you came in.”

I looked at the window behind him. The sky was starting to darken even though it was still early. A cold front was moving in. Outside, São Paulo rushed on as if nothing were happening. Inside, I was selling my soul.

“All right,” I whispered. “I agree.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. He just watched me, as if he still couldn’t believe I was willing to submit to this.

“The driver will pick you up tomorrow at eight,” he said, standing up. “Dress well. You represent something now. And keep the kid away from me.”

I nodded silently. I didn’t trust my words.

As I walked out of the office, I felt his eyes boring into my back. I knew exactly what he was thinking. That he’d won. That he’d finally put me in the place he believed I deserved.

Even after all these years, he still believed that lie. He still thought I’d been capable of betraying him. He had no idea who Miguel was. And one day, that truth was going to choke him, tasting like blood and regret.

Aurora

The first thing I did when I left that building was run straight to the hospital.

My heart was still in pieces, but I needed to see Miguel. I needed to remind myself why I was doing all this. But I could still feel Paul’s fingers under my chin, hear the coldness in his voice, and taste the price I had just agreed to pay.

The cold, white hallway was almost familiar by now. The nurses greeted me with silent nods. They all knew how serious his condition was.

My son was in the pediatric ward, in room 312, surrounded by machines that beeped softly, as if reminding me that his life was measured in electronic beats.

When I entered, my mother was sitting in the chair beside his bed, gently stroking his hair. My father was reading the newspaper, though his eyes weren’t following the words.

“Hi,” I murmured.

Luiza looked up. Her tired face lit up with a faint smile. Pedro gave me a worried look.

Miguel was sleeping