Chapter 231
Chapter 231
The words poured out sharper than I intended. But damn it, I’m tired. Tired of being poked and prodded like some fragile thing that might shatter at any moment.
For the first time, Ayumi looks caught off guard. Her cold, unshakable demeanor softens—just a fraction, but it’s enough to make me pause.
“Alright,” she says, her voice quieter than before. “I’ll see myself out.”
She turns on her heel and walks out without another word, leaving me alone in the silence of my office.
I exhale, leaning back in my chair and staring at the ceiling. What the hell was that about?
I decide not to dwell on it. Today’s a good day. I’m not letting anyone spoil it for me.
It’s 9:00 p.m. Luke’s calls have been going straight to voicemail. I try again anyway, holding my breath as the line rings once, twice, then-
“We’re sorry, the number you’re trying to reach-”
I throw my phone onto the couch, the screen lighting up momentarily before going dark, mocking me with its silence.
Staring out the window, I tap my fingers on the edge of the sill. He said eight o’clock. Luke is punctual to a fault. What could possibly be keeping him? My mind races with worst-case scenarios, but I force myself to breathe.
Maybe he’s stuck in traffic. Or his phone died. Or-no. Enough.
I step away from the window and glance around the room, the evidence of my earlier optimism laid out like a scene from a romantic comedy:
A platter of strawberries, artfully arranged, sits on the coffee table.
A bottle of sparkling juice-because wine is suddenly off limits-chills in an ice bucket.
Candles flicker softly on the mantle, casting a warm, golden glow over everything.
And then there’s me.
I tug at the hem of the silky one-piece lingerie I bought just for tonight. It clings to my curves in all the right places, a vision straight out of one of those glossy fashion spreads. But right now, it feels more like an elaborate joke.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, heading to the bar.
The bottle of red wine calls to me, its deep crimson hue promising a temporary escape. My hand hovers over it before I remember-pregnant. I’m pregnant. I can’t drink.
With a frustrated sigh, I grab a carton of juice from the fridge instead and pour myself a glass. The clink of ice cubes hitting the cup feels like the only thing keeping me grounded.
Then I climb the stairs, heading to my room.
Upstairs, my bedroom is bathed in soft, dim light. The scent of lavender fills the air from the diffuser I set up earlier. A romantic ballad plays softly in the background-something about forever love and dancing in moonlight.
1 sink onto the edge of the bed, staring at the room I spent an hour preparing.
1/4
Chapter 231
For what? To get stood up?
The carefully arranged rose petals, the neatly folded throw on the chair, the dimmed lights-all of it feels useless now.
Taking my juice, I slide open the balcony door and step outside. The cool night air brushes against my skin. I sit on the cushioned chair, pulling my legs up to my chest as I stare at the stars.
Why am I crying?
I don’t even notice the tears until I feel the wet streaks on my cheeks. I swipe at them angrily, but they keep coming, like some cruel faucet I can’t shut off.
“Stupid hormones,” I whisper, sniffling into the empty night.
I rest my head against the back of the chair, cradling the juice in my lap. The stars blur together as exhaustion and frustration weigh heavy on me. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks. A car engine hums. And then-
Warm lips press against the side of my neck, soft and familiar.
“Julie.”
His voice is low, quiet, filled with something I can’t quite place. I open my eyes, and there he is.
Luke.
He’s crouched in front of me, his face level with mine. His hair is messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it, a habit
I know he reserves for moments of stress or anger. His tie is slightly askew, his shirt untucked at the edges.
“Nice of you to come,” I say.
“I’m so sorry.”
He looks tired, drained even, but I’m too angry to let it soften me. I sit up, setting my glass down with a little too much force.
“Luke, just leave me alone.”
“I can’t.”
“Fine, then stay here. I’ll leave.”
I push myself up, but before I can take a single step, I feel his hands on my
“Luke, what the hell-”
waist.
He lifts me effortlessly, and before I can protest, I’m pressed against the cool glass of the balcony door.
“Luke!”
His hands are firm, holding me in place as he wraps my legs around his waist. His face is inches from mine, his breath warm against my lips.
“I want you,” he says.
The words knock the air from my lungs.
“Luke, 1-
His forehead rests against mine, his eyes burning into me with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away.
