"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 Withdrawn.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."

I smiled and nodded, not sparing Charlie a single glance.

I did not ask why the two of them showed up at the hospital together, either.

When he reached out to grab my hand, I instinctively stepped back.

His hand froze midair.

Before he could say anything, I cut him off. "I'm heading home. I'm exhausted."

Without waiting for his response–or his attempt to stop me–I turned and left.

He was still in a suit, looking like he'd rushed straight out of some formal banquet.

I knew things were weighing on his mind, unfinished business he did not deal with.

So I did not try to hold him back.

I did not expect him to come home so early that night.

I was curled up on the sofa, munching on an apple, when the door opened. He walked in briskly, as if planning to head upstairs for a quick shower.

I called out before he could leave the room.

"Charlie. I agree to what you said."

He stopped abruptly and turned to look at me.

I set the fruit plate aside and met his gaze–those dark, unreadable eyes.

"The condition you mentioned. If the baby's a boy, we'll call it even."

The fingers at his side trembled slightly.

He inhaled slowly and stepped closer.

"Olivia, what exactly are you trying to say?"

I straightened my back, keeping my tone steady.

"When the baby's born, if it's a boy, we go our separate ways. No more contact. It's better if we never see each other again."

His expression changed instantly, as though he could not quite process what he just heard.

"You mean, you don't want this child?"

I nodded. My throat tightened, and I forced down the ache rising in my chest.

"You're successful. Even divorced, there'll be plenty of women lining up to marry you. Like that delicate Ms. Walters, she'd suit you perfectly."

He fell silent.

The silence stretched so long it made my skin crawl.

I could not help adding, "You were the one who brought this up first. Don't tell me you're backing out now?"

The house was unbearably quiet.

We stood there, neither of us looking at the other, the air thick and frozen.

After what felt like forever, he gave a small nod. His voice was so low it was almost inaudible.

"Fine."

It was exactly the outcome I asked for. And yet, for some reason, I did not feel any lighter.

He spoke again, his voice slightly hoarse.

"And if it's a girl?"

My mind faltered for a split second, but I forced myself to answer casually.

"Then we'll just have another one."

I said it as lightly as if we were discussing dinner plans.

He lowered his head and stood there for a while, saying nothing more, before turning and going upstairs.

The more I thought about it, the more irritated I became.

Annoyed at him.

Annoyed at this unborn child.

Most of all, annoyed at myself for having fallen for someone so infuriating.

I packed a few things and moved into the guest bedroom.

In the middle of the night, I woke up thirsty and stumbled out of bed to find some water. When I checked my phone, I saw a message from Rachel, sent two hours earlier.

[Hahaha! This afternoon, Charlie ditched his meeting and stormed out. No one could stop him.]

[Your mother-in-law was crying on the side, saying, At least the boy still has some humanity left in him.]

I stared at the screen for a long moment, unsure how to respond.

So I changed the subject instead.

"What's going on between you and Henry? Why does he tell you everything?"

No reply.

Back when I used to sleep in the master bedroom, there would always be a glass of warm water waiting by the bed. He left it there for me.

Now that I was in the guest room, there was no such treatment.

I had to drag myself to the kitchen for water.

As I passed the staircase, I noticed a faint sliver of light seeping out from the attic door.

I hesitated, then walked over.

The moment I pushed the door open, I froze.

Charlie was kneeling before a small Buddhist altar. His back was straight, posture reverent beyond belief.

In a low voice, he murmured, "Merciful God, please bless me with a daughter. If my wish is granted, I vow to rebuild your temple and recast your golden statue."

I stood there, stunned.

Did he get it backwards? Were we not hoping for a son?

However, the devotion in his voice, the earnestness in his expression–none of it looked fake.

He truly wanted a daughter.

At the doorway, I unconsciously placed my hand over my stomach.