Chapter 303: Don't Touch My Things!

\[Theodore\]

The fury inside me was a living thing, clawing its way up my throat as I gripped Sarah's wrist. Each word erupted like a volcano finally giving way to its pressure: "I have a right to know everything about my child! Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, I'm still this baby's father!"

Sarah's face remained a perfect mask of indifference, her eyes empty of any emotion I could read—a skill she'd perfected during our time apart. "Well, now you know, don't you?" Her voice was level, almost clinical.

"But not because you told me!" The words came out as a growl, my fingers unconsciously tightening around her delicate wrist. "Show me the test results!"

A flicker of something—was it fear? anger?—passed through her eyes before that impenetrable wall slammed back into place. "There's no physical report." She twisted her arm experimentally, testing my grip. "Let go of me!"

"Why isn't there a report?!" I loosened my hold slightly, not wanting to hurt her, but unwilling to let her slip away yet again.

"The test was done in Europe," she said, her voice gaining an edge of impatience. "The hospital only sent me a text notification."

At that moment, Mike appeared in the doorway with William and Emma trailing behind, their small faces confused by the tension crackling in the air. He herded the children past us toward their room, shooting me a warning glare.

With an exasperated sigh that made my blood boil even more, Sarah led me upstairs to her bedroom. She thrust her phone at me, the screen displaying a stark message from a European hospital: Neural Tube Defect: High Risk.

"What did they do at the hospital today?" My eyes locked onto her abdomen, the slight swell visible even through her loose blouse.

"Amniocentesis," she answered tersely.

"To confirm whether the baby actually has problems?" The question felt like glass in my throat.

"Yes. The results will be ready in two weeks." Her eyes met mine with a challenge. "You can come back in two weeks to ask me again."

Something snapped inside me. I yanked her closer, my breath catching as her warmth seeped through our clothes. "In two weeks, if they confirm there's a problem, what will you do?"

"I'll terminate the pregnancy." The words fell from her lips without hesitation, each syllable a knife to my heart.

The room spun for a moment, my vision blurring at the edges. "You said you'd keep the baby no matter what. Why change your mind now?" The question barely made it past the lump in my throat.

"To let him be born just to suffer?" She fired back, her composure finally cracking. "Weren't you the one who wanted me to terminate? You should be thrilled now!"

"That's my child!" The words exploded from me, raw and primal. "Whether he's sick or aborted, how could I possibly be happy about either option?! Sarah, why must you constantly provoke me like this?"

The air between us crackled with unspoken accusations and bitter memories. Then something else caught my attention—a nagging question that had been eating at me since morning.

"Where did you get that two hundred million?" My voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Who'd you borrow it from?"

"I earned it myself." She took a step back, but the bed behind her prevented further retreat.

"Two hundred million in just a few weeks?" The incredulity in my voice was palpable. "Tell me, Sarah—exactly how did you earn it?"

"That's none of your business," she shot back, her eyes flashing with defiance. "Your only concern should be the baby. You have no right to question how I live my life!"

Something primal surged within me at her defiance. I moved forward deliberately, backing her against the bed until I could feel the heat radiating from her body. My hands found her waist, fingers pressing into the soft fabric of her blouse.

"Caring about you IS caring about our child!" I growled, my face inches from hers. The familiar scent of her perfume sent a rush of memories cascading through me. "As long as that baby's inside you, I have every right to be involved in your life!"

Her breath quickened, her chest rising and falling rapidly against mine. For a heartbeat, I saw something flicker in her eyes—not just anger, but something deeper, more complex. The electricity between us was undeniable, that magnetic pull that had always drawn us together even in our worst moments.

Unable to resist, I crashed my lips against hers, swallowing her gasp of surprise. My hand slid to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as I held her in place. The kiss was punishing, desperate—all the pain and longing of our separation poured into this one reckless moment. For a second, I felt her soften, her lips responding with a hesitancy that made my heart race.

Then her hands were against my chest, pushing with surprising strength. "Stop it!" she hissed, her lips swollen from our kiss, eyes wild with fury. "You can't just—"

In a burst of anger, she shoved me hard. I stumbled backward, my shoulder colliding with the coat rack. It toppled over with a crash, and her bag fell to the floor, its contents scattering across the hardwood like confetti.

Breathing heavily, I dropped to my knees, gathering the spilled items with hands that trembled slightly. Tissues, earbuds, a compact mirror, some medication. As I collected everything, my fingers brushed against something in the bag's inner pocket. A flash of black caught my eye.

"Don't touch my things!" Her voice rose in panic, a tone I'd never heard from her before. She was still flushed from our kiss, lips parted and breathing uneven.

But it was too late. My fingers had already closed around the edge of a black credit card. I pulled it out, turning it over to read the signature on the back: Jason Grant.

Time seemed to freeze. The card felt heavy in my hand. The taste of Sarah still on my lips made the discovery all the more bitter.

"This is yours?" I held the card between two fingers, my voice dripping with sarcasm that barely masked the pain beneath. "Why is Jason's card in your bag?"

"I told you not to touch my bag!" She lunged for the card, desperation evident in every movement. Our bodies collided again, the brief contact sending another jolt of awareness through me. "I never said it was my card!"

"The two hundred million—it was from him, wasn't it?" My voice rose with each accusation, my free hand instinctively circling her waist to steady her. "When did this start? If I hadn't found this card, how long were you planning to keep it from me?!"