Chapter 39
Isabella gave a careless shrug. “Who can say? Perhaps it is.”
Liam’s eyes flushed a dangerous red. He itched to wrap his hands around her throat but held himself back.
His father was ecstatic about this pregnancy. If anything went wrong now, Liam would have no defense. More importantly, his father must never discover he had slept with Isabella.
This child, this child…
He had once craved an heir desperately. Now the very idea filled him with dread.
Regret washed over Liam in a cold wave. Why had he thrown everything away for the sake of a baby?
Neither Victoria nor Isabella loved him.
The only woman who truly had was gone—driven away by his own actions.
Liam stood before the bathroom mirror, fingers pressing hard into his temples.
The man reflected back had hollowed cheeks and shadows beneath his eyes. His sharp jawline stood out from recent weight loss.
Cold water dripped from his chin into the sink, each drop echoing in the quiet room.
“Liam, breakfast is ready,” William’s gruff voice called from downstairs.
Since Isabella’s pregnancy, the old man’s health had taken a surprising turn for the better.
Liam mechanically adjusted his tie. His hands shook slightly as he touched his throat.
He studied his pale face and suddenly remembered last night’s nightmare: the baby Isabella bore had his eyes, but called him “brother” in Eleanor’s voice.
A violent shudder ran through him. His headache pulsed worse.
“The doctor says the baby is perfectly healthy,” Isabella announced at the dining table. She pushed a glass of warm milk toward William. Her hand drifted over her rounded belly. “We can hear the heartbeat next week.”
William beamed, wrinkles crinkling at his eyes. “Liam, you will accompany Isabella to the appointment.”
Liam’s fork screeched against his plate.
He looked up and met Isabella’s gaze—smug and victorious.
Those eyes… so like Eleanor’s, but now he saw only cunning manipulation.
“I have a merger to finalize,” he said, dropping his napkin. His tone was hollow. “I’m leaving.”
He all but fled to the office.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, sunlight streamed brightly. Yet Liam felt a deep chill settle in his bones.
He unlocked his phone and instinctively navigated to Eleanor’s social media.
The latest post was a candid shot of Sebastian’s back as he cooked in the kitchen—a photo she had taken secretly.
In the image, Sebastian’s sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms.
A pot of soup simmered on the stove. Oliver sat on the counter, looking curiously about.
That cozy, domestic warmth seemed to bleed through the screen, piercing Liam straight through the heart.
It reminded him of when he and Eleanor had first married.
Except back then, she had been the one standing at the stove.
He suddenly locked his phone, grabbed a whiskey bottle from the cabinet, and took a long swig.
Meanwhile, I was arranging flowers with Sebastian.
“This Lisianthus has a perfect curve,” I said, holding up a pale purple bloom. “Would it look nice in the entryway vase?”
Sebastian was trimming stems. He glanced up and smiled. “It’s beautiful.”
He walked over and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “But I believe a white tulip might complement it even better.”
Oliver tumbled playfully beneath the flower shelf, knocking over a pail of baby’s breath.
Tiny white petals clung to his orange fur like scattered stardust.
“You little troublemaker,” Sebastian murmured. He crouched down and scratched Oliver’s chin. Sunlight caught his eyelashes as he teased, “That’s one less fish treat for you tonight.”
I laughed softly and captured the moment with a quick photo.
Sebastian looked up at me, his expression tender. When he rose, his arms slid naturally around my waist. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head.