When our marriage contract expired, I found out I was pregnant.

Charlie Newman’s voice was icy.

"If it’s a boy, we’re even."

I asked quietly, "And if it’s a girl?"

He paused–then said coldly, "Then we keep trying until you give me a son."

I sighed.

Three years of marriage couldn’t compete with the need for an heir.

However, one night, when I went downstairs for water, I saw him kneeling in the attic, eyes devout, voice trembling.

"Merciful God, please grant me a daughter. If you hear my prayer and make my wish come true, I will give generously to your church and serve you faithfully all my life."

When I got the pregnancy test results, I still could not believe it.

Pregnant.

Charlie Newman and I were married for a year under a business contract. We were meticulous–careful to the point of paranoia. There was no way this should have happened.

So where did the tiny life inside me come from?

First, I never betrayed him.

Second, I have never been with anyone else.

Third, if it was not his; Whose could it possibly be?

And yet, of all times, it had to happen now.

In just a few days, our marriage contract would expire.

Once the date hit, we would part ways–clean and simple. No lingering ties. If we passed each other in the future, we wouldn't even need to exchange greetings.

What about now?

I let out a long breath, my hand unconsciously resting against my stomach.

A memory surfaced–something I once asked him casually.

"Do you like children?"

He sat on the sofa, posture relaxed but face cold as frost. His eyes were dark and unreadable.

Three words.

"Don't like them."

Now? A child neither of us planned for showed up anyway.

Right before we were supposed to go our separate ways.

When I got home, the lights in the living room were on.

Charlie was walking out of the kitchen with a plate of steak in one hand, still holding the spatula in the other.

He hates outsiders in the house. Ever since we got married, he handled every single meal himself.

When he heard the door, he lifted his gaze slightly and nodded once.

"Wash up. Eat."

Four crisp words. Efficient. Minimal.

He never wasted syllables.

I tightened my grip on my handbag strap, debating whether to take out the test report.

Before I could decide, he suddenly looked up and fixed his eyes on me.

His gaze was sharp–like a blade sliding straight into my chest.

'Forget it. I'll tell him after dinner.'

The table was quiet except for the scrape of cutlery against porcelain.

Exactly like every other night.

Then, unexpectedly, he asked, "Bad mood?"

I froze, then instinctively shook my head.

He frowned slightly. "Maxed out your card again?"

I shook my head.

"Didn't get the limited-edition shoes you wanted?"

Another shake.

He paused for a moment. His tone remained flat, but something beneath it shifted.

"Tired of this?"

Tired of what?

The food being too bland?

Or was the man sitting across from me being too dull?

I looked up abruptly and met his expressionless face.

Maybe I imagined it–but the corners of his usually straight lips seemed to dip ever so slightly.

I scratched my ear, stalling before I finally spoke.

"Um, our marriage contract is about to expire, right?"

The moment the words left my mouth, he set down his knife and fork and looked at me.

The glance was calm.

However, for some reason, it felt unbearably heavy.

After a few seconds of silence, he said hoarsely, "Yes."

Hearing him confirm it stirred a faint ache in my chest.

Still, I pressed on.

"I know we're supposed to part on good terms. And I know this past year, you've taken good care of me. In business and in private, I owe you."

The Sullivan family company made a comeback from the brink because of him.

My extravagant lifestyle? Also because of him.

And me?

I did not really give him anything tangible in return.

His brows lowered slightly.

"Olivia Sullivan. Get to the point."

I drew in a deep breath and flung the report onto the table in front of him.

Then I shut my eyes.

Waiting for judgment.

Silence.

A long silence.

So long, I started wondering if I actually killed him with shock.

Panic shot through me. I knew this violated the core condition of our contract.

I rushed to explain.

"Um, it has to be yours. I didn't tamper with anything, I swear. It was completely accidental. I'll take care of it. We’ll part on good terms. I won’t cause you any trouble at all, and I won’t cling to you. From now on, we’ll go our separate ways."

"Keep the baby."

Charlie's voice cut cleanly through the silence.

I froze, lifting my head in disbelief.

His expression did not change.

"I need a child to appease my parents."

"Oh," The sound slipped from me before I could stop it. I lowered my eyes quickly, hiding the flicker of disappointment and confusion.

So that was all it was.

He continued, calm and detached. "If it's a boy, we're even."

A boy.

The Newman family empire was vast. Of course, they needed an heir. But what if it was not a boy?

I asked carefully, almost timidly, "And if it's a girl?"

He paused, then answered in a voice cold enough to frost glass.

"Then we keep trying until there's a son."

I met Charlie through an arranged marriage.

He needed a wife to satisfy his elders.

I needed to save the crumbling Sullivan family business.

It was a clean deal. A one-year marriage contract. Purely transactional.

At least, that was what I thought.

Until Charlie made it clear he had no intention of living in a sexless marriage.

I took a long look at him–tall, over six feet, restrained and aloof, devastatingly handsome, with a body that put runway models to shame.

It did not seem entirely unacceptable.

Aside from being quiet and hard to read, Charlie was practically the perfect husband.

Handsome. Wealthy. Generous. Considerate.

Also, if I were being honest, exceptionally skilled in bed.

So it was inevitable.

I fell for him.

I told myself it was nothing. Even a cold, unfeeling object–a massager, a black card with unlimited spending–would grow on you if you used it long enough, right?

That was what I told myself out loud.

However, deep down, I knew I was sinking.

How about Charlie?

He remained a distant observer.

Watching me spiral deeper into feelings he never shared.

Even my pregnancy–he could dissect it in seconds, weigh the pros and cons, and arrive at the most rational conclusion.

To him, the child and I were merely useful assets.

Interchangeable.

Apparently, he was not always this way.

His parents once told me that before studying abroad, Charlie was like any brilliant heir–confident, articulate, effortlessly charming. He thrived socially, academically, and in every arena.

Then he returned from overseas.

A different person.

Silent. Perpetually cold-faced. Withdrawn.

His parents panicked and dragged him to a psychologist overnight.

The diagnosis?

Nothing wrong.

I felt sorry for them for a full three seconds.

Imagine raising a bright, sunny heir only to have him come back transformed into a human iceberg. Anyone would lose their mind.

By then, I already started liking him.

So I did what any curious wife would do–I asked around. Leaned on a few less-than-reliable friends to dig up some dirt.

I got it.

From one of Charlie's loose-lipped buddies, I learned the truth.

During his time abroad, he fell for a girl.

Summoned up the courage to confess, and was thoroughly rejected.

His heart shattered.

After that, he shut down emotionally, buried himself in his studies, earned his master’s and doctorate, and stayed single.

He even picked up cooking–his hands blistered from burns. Learned how to sew. Learned massage therapy.

A wealthy young master who could mend clothes and knead sore muscles.

I could not even force a laugh.

"How does Charlie know how to do everything?" I muttered.

Turns out he learned it all for someone else before me.

A quiet, restrained, older-man type who takes care of everything.

What chance did I have against the woman he could never have? His unattainable first love.

On impulse, I asked, "Where did he study?"

When I heard the answer, I nearly choked.

"Wait–what?! We went to the same university?!"

He majored in finance.

I studied art.

Curiosity got the better of me. I dragged my best friend Rachel Turner into a full post-mortem of our university days.

In theory, someone like him–a campus star–should have left an impression. But I could not remember him at all.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Olivia, do I really have to spell it out?"

"Spell what out?"

"You were completely obsessed with BL novels back then. Day and night. Shipping fictional couples like it was a full-time job. You opened your eyes and immediately started fantasizing. There was no room left in your brain for actual men."

"Right."

I forgot that phase.

After searching and finding nothing, I had to give up.

I sighed. 'If I'd known I'd fall for Charlie one day, I would've made my move back in school.'

Regret does not even begin to cover it.

After my shower, I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling.

One sentence kept echoing in my head: "Have a son, and we'll be even."

I knew there was someone in his heart.

However, after sleeping beside him for so long, was there really not even a trace of feeling?

Or was it only women who grew more attached the longer they shared a bed with someone?

I let out a bitter laugh and forced down the resentment rising in my chest.

Charlie stepped out of the bathroom, bare-chested. Seeing that I was still awake, he frowned.

"Is something wrong?"

I swallowed the ache in my throat. "No. The line at the hospital was too long today. My back's sore from standing."

He paused mid-step and walked over. "Why didn't you go to the Newman family hospital?"

I shrugged. "I thought it was just an upset stomach."

He tapped lightly at my waist. "Lie down."

Then his hands covered the muscles at my lower back.

"No illness is minor. Next time, call me."

His tone was calm–too calm–like he was giving instructions to a subordinate.

Every time he was rough with me in bed, he would always massage me afterward.

However, things felt different now.

I remembered the message he received while he was in the shower–from Henry Cass:

[Mr. Newman, heard Lynn Walters is coming back to the country~ Feeling excited?]

[Don't tell me you were acting strange back then for no reason.]

[Say it! Is Lynn the one?]

[If you don't reply, I'll take it as a yes~]

I cleared my throat. "Someone texted you earlier. Is it important?"

He stood up, picked up his phone, glanced at it–and tossed it back down without replying.

My heart sank.

So, that was his answer?

Since I was only a month pregnant, Charlie suggested we not tell our parents yet. I agreed.

Early the next morning, he took me to the Newman family hospital for a checkup.

Everything moved quickly. We had the report before lunchtime.

In the back seat of the car, he was frowning at something. I leaned closer–it was my test results.

He was studying them with intense focus, as if staring hard enough would make the words bloom.

I muttered, "You're not a doctor. Do you even understand what you're looking at?"

He stiffened. For a split second, something almost embarrassed flashed across his face.

His phone rang.

"Hello! Today's flight? All right. I understand."

After hanging up, he told his assistant, "Go to the airport and pick up Ms. Walters."

My breathing hitched.

Ms. Walters?

Irritation flared in my chest. I snatched the report from his hands and said coolly, "Go take care of your business."

He studied me for a moment, then nodded silently.

After that, he suddenly became busy.

I heard that Lynn, as a business partner, would be staying in the country for quite some time.

No wonder he was coming home near dawn for the past month.

Maybe it was the pregnancy, but my emotions were all over the place.

Especially at night, lying alone in an empty bed.

I was drowning in jealousy. My chest felt tight and achy.

Even my parents messaged me about it.

[Olivia, what's going on between Charlie and that Ms. Walters?]

I shut off my phone in frustration.

I wanted to ask the same question.

Who could give me an answer?

I tossed and turned until past midnight. Charlie still did not come home.

I was not the type to check up on my husband. But tonight, I desperately wanted to call and ask what he was doing.

Then I stopped myself.

A wife in name only–what right did I have to question him?

It felt like I was fighting a war against myself.

The result? A sleepless night.

I only drifted off when the sky began to pale.

When I woke, it was already afternoon.

I remembered my prenatal appointment and started getting ready for the hospital.

For a moment, I hesitated–should I tell Charlie?

However, I forced myself not to.

I did not need him to accompany me.

So I went alone.

After completing the usual tests, I photographed the report and sent it to Rachel.

I never expected to run straight into Charlie.

He was walking quickly, chest rising and falling, slightly out of breath–as if he rushed all the way here.

A flicker of joy sparked in my chest. I was just about to show him the report–when a voice sounded from behind him.

"Charlie, can you try to be a little considerate toward a lady?"

It was Lynn Walters.

The unattainable girl, the one that got away.

I froze.

He did not respond to her. After catching his breath, he looked at me instead.

"Didn't we agree you'd call me so I could come with you?"

I slipped the report back into my bag under his gaze.

Lynn glanced at me and smiled.

"Hello, Ms. Sullivan. I'm Lynn–Charlie's friend."