Chapter 43 43.
Chapter 43 43.
Chapter 43: Ashley’s POV
Apparently, my retirement had been dramatically premature.
Typical.
After several more conversations with Simone, it became painfully clear that she wasn't actually back in Manila permanently. She would only be staying for a few days before returning to Switzerland.
Which meant technically... I was still the Orwell representative. Unfortunately.
Fortunately, however, Nash would be handling everything while he and Simone were in Manila. That meant my approved vacation leave remained untouched.
No board meetings. No reports. No Marcus Bryson.
Honestly? Best news I'd received all week.
The next morning, I woke up feeling suspiciously refreshed. That feeling lasted approximately twenty minutes. Because pregnancy apparently came with a never-ending list of appointments, and today was OB day.
Wonderful.
I arrived at the private medical center shortly before my scheduled appointment. The clinic itself was located on one of the upper floors, designed specifically for high-profile patients who preferred privacy. I am not a high-profile, but the baby? Yes.
Everything smelled aggressively clean.
The waiting area looked more like a luxury hotel lounge than a medical facility—soft chairs, fresh flowers, quiet music. Rich people healthcare was honestly a completely different species.
I checked in at reception before taking a seat near the window. For the next few minutes, I entertained myself by scrolling through messages from Troy.
Unfortunately.
Troy: Did you survive separation anxiety from Marcus?
Troy: Be honest.
Troy: Are you staring dramatically at the ocean right now?
Troy: Ashley.
Troy: Ashley.
Troy: ANSWER ME.
Psychotic behavior.
I was in the middle of typing a threat when movement near the elevators caught my attention. I looked up and immediately froze.
Oh. No.
Marcus Bryson stepped out of the elevator. Of course he did. Because apparently the universe found my suffering entertaining.
He was dressed in a charcoal suit, one hand tucked into his pocket while speaking quietly to someone on his phone. Sharp. Composed. Infuriatingly attractive. Exactly the opposite of what I needed today.
For one glorious second, I considered pretending not to see him. Then his gaze lifted and immediately landed on me.
Too late. Caught.
Marcus ended his call without breaking eye contact.
"Oh no," I muttered.
The woman beside me glanced over curiously.
I smiled awkwardly. "Not you."
Marcus approached calmly, confidently, like a man completely unaware he was becoming a recurring problem in my life.
"Ashley."
I narrowed my eyes. "Marcus."
His gaze briefly swept over me. Not in a strange way—just... checking. Observing. That word should honestly be illegal.
"You look tired."
Excuse me? I sat up straighter immediately. "I look beautiful."
A faint flicker of amusement appeared in his eyes. "Dramatic as always."
"I reject your criticism."
Marcus sat in the empty chair beside mine. Not across from me. Beside me. Dangerous choice.
"What are you doing here?" I asked suspiciously, gesturing vaguely to the plush layout of the floor. "Don't you have a corporate empire to run?"
"I have an appointment," he said, entirely unfazed. "Executive Health Services is down the hall. I am doing a routine checkup."
"You voluntarily see doctors?"
Marcus looked at me like I was particularly slow today. "Most adults do."
"Not willingly."
"They should." I stared at him suspiciously, but he just leaned back, his eyes shifting toward the folder resting on my lap—the one clearly labeled with the clinic's obstetrics and maternal care logo. Immediately, his expression softened into that quiet, heavy seriousness that always made my breath hitch. "When's your appointment?"
"Ten minutes," I said, suddenly feeling defensive.
Marcus nodded once. "Good. You've been overdue."
My brain stopped functioning briefly. I looked at him, then looked at him again. "How do you know that?"
Silence. A dangerous silence.
Marcus didn't even flinch. He just kept that steady, dark gaze locked onto mine, completely unapologetic about the fact that he was keeping track. "You mentioned postponing your initial ultrasound during a stressful week at the company. Once. A few weeks ago."
I searched my memory, then groaned, burying my face in my hands. "Oh my God. You remember everything."
"I remember things that matter," he said evenly.
The weight behind those words made my stomach do a sudden, unauthorized flip. He still thought I was carrying the child of some deadbeat, anonymous ex who had completely abandoned me. He thought he was just watching out for a vulnerable, stubborn contractor who refused to pace herself.
"That's actually ridiculous," I muttered, crossing my arms. "You shouldn't be paying attention to my medical schedule, Marcus. It's not in the Orwell contract."
"Consider it a matter of asset protection," he replied dryly, though the intensity in his eyes completely contradicted his clinical phrasing. "The father clearly isn't here to ensure you're taking care of yourself. Someone has to."
I pointed at him aggressively. "See? This is exactly what I'm talking about. Arrogant, controlling, and frankly offensive."
Marcus looked entirely innocent, which was even more annoying.
Before I could continue my argument, a nurse appeared from the hallway. "Ms. Martin?"
I immediately stood. "Saved by healthcare."
The nurse looked confused—Marcus looked amused. I gathered my bag quickly before turning toward the hallway, then paused because Marcus was still watching me. That same steady look—the one that somehow made me feel entirely too seen lately.
"Good luck with your appointment, Ashley," he said quietly.
Simple words. Simple tone. And somehow my stupid heart reacted anyway.
I adjusted my bag strap, trying to regain my usual sarcastic armor. "It's just a checkup."
The appointment went smoothly.
Thankfully.
Because after the dizzy spell in Amanpulo, I had been expecting at least one lecture from my OB.
Instead, after a quick examination and several routine checks, she smiled reassuringly.
"Everything looks good, Ashley."
The tension in my shoulders immediately eased.
"And the baby?"
"Healthy."
Just one word.
Healthy.
But somehow it made my eyes sting slightly.
Pregnancy was strange. One minute I was arguing with billionaires, the next, I was getting emotional over a medical report.
After scheduling my next appointment, I finally left the consultation room.