With that, Liam pushed open the bedroom door and stepped out. Emma watched his retreating figure, her expression darkening.
Maybe he could say that because of old Henry Williams. Whether they loved each other or not, the child would stay. This man could be so gentle sometimes that you felt like you owned the whole world. But when he turned cold, he stabbed your heart like a knife. It hurt so much she could barely breathe.
His words only made her feel like she was nothing more than a vessel for pregnancy. It truly stung.
By the time Emma got out of bed, Liam had already left. She knew he might be angry about what she'd said, but his words had been just as hurtful. So she didn't call him.
Just then, her phone rang. It was Elijah.
She picked up, and his worried voice came through.
"Emma, I heard something happened to you? I couldn't get through. I just got off the plane. Are you in the hospital?"
"I'm fine. I'm home. Elijah, don't worry."
"Really?" he asked, uncertain.
"Really," she reassured him.
After hanging up, she saw dozens of missed calls from him. She'd been unconscious, so of course she hadn't heard. But Liam hadn't answered either. Then again, he never liked Elijah, so it made sense.
After a moment, she called her aunt and spoke with Isabella.
"I'm so glad you're okay, cousin. I would've blamed myself forever."
"I'm fine. Don't do anything stupid again, okay? Don't make the people who care about you worry."
"I won't. I promise."
Isabella kept apologizing. Emma finally hung up, relieved.
Late that night, she heard the door open. Thinking Liam wouldn't come back, she didn't know how to face him. She quickly closed her eyes. She heard the bedroom door push open, then the sound of him getting into bed.
A sigh hung in the air—complicated, heavy. Then his arm reached over, wrapped around her waist, and pulled her into his embrace.
Her forehead pressed against his chest. Listening to his heartbeat, she could barely keep her eyes shut.
"I know you're awake."
His voice rang out above her head. She couldn't pretend anymore. She looked up, her clear eyes meeting his dark ones.
"We still have more than six months. Should we try again?"
His low voice echoed in her ear. Emma nodded, letting go of the cold words he'd said before.
Neither of them knew who started it first. His cool fingertips slipped into her pajamas. Her heart raced. Her soft lips met his thin, cold ones, and then everything spiraled out of control.
The air grew thick with tension. In the heat of the moment, he wanted to bury her in his body. Tears slipped from her eyes, and he gently kissed them away, his warmth searing into her.
They didn't stop until much later.
The next morning, Emma woke up groggy. Her whole body ached. When she tried to stand, her legs gave out, and she sank back onto the bed. Remembering her boldness from the night before, her cheeks flushed with heat.
What had gotten into her? It was so embarrassing.
Liam was in the bathroom showering. After a moment, Emma decided she was steady enough to make breakfast. She put on the pink apron she'd bought before and challenged herself to fry eggs in the kitchen.
This time, nothing burned. She was thrilled. She couldn't help humming, her cheerful voice filling the room. When Liam came out, he saw the little woman bustling around.
For a moment, he was lost in a daze. It was like being a child again, back when his mother was still alive. She loved cooking and often made delicious meals for him and his father in the kitchen. Watching them devour her food, she always wore a happy smile.
When he met Emma, he never thought he'd see that kind of scene again. But here she was, this little woman, trying to learn to cook—even if her motives weren't entirely pure. Still, warmth flooded his chest. Maybe he could look forward to more days like this.
Emma toasted the bread and set the fried eggs and sausages on the table. Liam polished off everything with pride. Her eyes curved as she laughed happily. But just as he was about to praise her, he noticed she'd picked up a little notebook she never let go of. She scribbled "breakfast" in it with a ballpoint pen.
His words died in his throat.
This little money-grubber, he thought, shaking his head.
They left the apartment. Liam wanted her to rest at home, but Emma insisted she was fine. When she got stubborn, there was no stopping her. He decided to let her come to the company, at least so he could keep an eye on her. She could rest in his office. He wasn't going to let her work for a few days.
As they stepped outside, Emma's gaze swept the street. She spotted a familiar car. Curious, she walked closer and saw a familiar face inside.
"Elijah? What are you doing here?"
She tapped on the window, and Elijah stepped out. His warm, jade-like face broke into a gentle smile.
"I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn't expect you to spot me."
She hadn't realized he'd come all this way early in the morning just to check on her. She didn't know he'd been here all night.
Her emotions tangled as she looked at him.
"Why put yourself through this?"
"It's nothing."
Three simple words, said so easily. His eyes were as gentle as ever.
"And who do we have here?" Liam's voice cut through the air, breaking the moment between them.
Emma turned back. Liam's smiling dark eyes seemed to glint with dangerous cold.