Chapter 88: The Tension Escalates

The silence in the dimly lit room was suffocating. Roseline’s pulse pounded in her ears as she met Ronaldo’s piercing gaze. His expression changed into unreadable, a calm mask stretched over something distant, greater risky under the floor. The two men in the back of him, armed and alert, made it painfully clear that a breakout was not an alternative.  

Sam stiffened beside her, his body tensed like a spring geared up to snap. But Roseline knew that no amount of bravado should in any way shape the raw strength Ronaldo held—now not just physically, but also. He may want to make them disappear with a snap of his arms, and nobody would query it.  

Ronaldo took a sluggish leap forward, his eyes by no means leaving hers. “Going somewhere, mi amor?”  

Roseline pressed a smile, even though her fingers clenched involuntarily at her sides. “I wished for a few fresh air,” she stated, voice steadier than she felt.  

Ronaldo’s lips curved, however it wasn’t a grin—it changed into a caution. “Fresh air?” He tilted his head, glancing at Sam. “With him?”  

Sam exhaled sharply, stepping forward. “Ronaldo, permit her to go. You don’t know her.”  

One of Ronaldo’s guys moved right away, urgent a hand to his hidden weapon. A silent threat.  

Roseline swallowed hard and grabbed Sam’s arm, giving him the slightest shake of her head. Not now. Not like this.  

Ronaldo watched the exchange with cold leisure. He turned his gaze again to Roseline, his voice deceptively smooth. “Why don’t we pass lower back internal? Have a bit of a chat?”  

A command, no longer a request.  

Roseline hesitated, but she knew refusing could only escalate matters further. With one ultimate glance at Sam, she stepped toward Ronaldo.  

He positioned his hand at the small of her back, guiding her ahead. She flinched but didn’t shrink back. Sam remained frozen, fists clenched, helpless as Ronaldo led her again into the residence.  

The door shut in the back of them with a decisive click.  

\---  

The air inside felt even heavier. Roseline stood near the grand fireplace, her fingers trembling as she fought to regulate her respiration.  

Ronaldo leaned towards his desk, looking at her like a predator circling its prey.  

“I’ll ask you one closing time,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Are you pregnant?”  

Her palms dug into her hands. “No.”  

His eyes darkened. “And what about Sam? How long has he been sneaking round in the back of my back?”  

Roseline bit the interior of her cheek, forcing her expression to remain neutral. “Sam is my buddy, not anything greater.”  

Ronaldo let loose a slow, planned exhale. “You’re mendacity.”  

She flinched, but quickly recovered. “I’m not.”  

In an instant, he was in front of her. His hand shot out, gripping her chin—no longer bruising. He tilted her face up, his expression unreadable. “Do you think I’m silly?”  

Roseline compelled herself to keep his gaze, though worry twisted inside her like a knife. “No.”  

“Then forestall insulting me with those pathetic lies,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over her jaw. “You’re mine, Roseline. You continually have been.”  

A kick back ran down her spine. She clenched her enamel, forcing herself to stay nonetheless, to not allow him to see how deeply those words unsettled her.  

His grip tightened ever so slightly. “I will now not tolerate betrayal.”  

She took a shaky breath. “I’m not betraying you.”  

Ronaldo studied her face for a long second, his gaze flicking to her belly for only a 2nd—just long enough to make her panic spike.  

Then, he did something sudden.  

He laughed.  

Roseline blinked, caught off guard.  

Ronaldo permitted to go at her chin and shook his head, entertainment dancing in his dark eyes. “You’re good,” he admitted. “You nearly had me satisfied.”  

Her coronary heart thudded. “I don’t—”  

“Enough.”  

The enjoyment vanished in an instant. His expression hardened, and when he spoke once more, his voice was like steel.  

“If you’re no longer pregnant, prove it.”  

Roseline’s breath stuck in her throat. “What?”  

“I want a test,” he stated simply. “Right now.”  

Her belly twisted. She hadn’t predicted this. She had thought she should maintain the lie, play it out just a little longer. But now—  

“I don’t have one,” she stated fast.  

Ronaldo smirked. “I do.”  

He reached into his table drawer and pulled out a small container. A pregnancy test.  

Roseline’s blood ran cold.  

She couldn’t take it. She couldn’t let him see the reality.  

She swallowed hard, greedy for an excuse. “I—I can’t simply—”  

“What’s wrong?” Ronaldo asked, his smirk widening. “If you’re telling the reality, then you have nothing to worry about, right?”  

Her heart hammered in her chest. If she refused, he would know. But if she took the check—  

She was trapped.  

Truly, trapped.  

“Roseline,” Ronaldo said, his voice smooth however laced with warning. “Take the check.”  

Her palms shook as she reached for the field. She became it over in her arms, her mind racing.  

Then, a concept struck her.  

A dangerous idea.  

She slowly seemed up at him, her expression cautiously controlled. “Fine,” she stated, feigning exasperation. “But if I take this test and it proves I’m not pregnant, then you definitely will make an apology for accusing me.”  

Ronaldo’s smirk didn’t waver. “If that’s what you want.”  

She nodded, gripping the box tightly. “Give me a few minutes.”  

She grew to become and walked to the toilet, locking the door at the back of her.  

Her pulse raced as she ripped open the box with shaking arms. The check lay in her palm, mocking her.  

Think, Roseline. Think.  

Then, she remembered something.  

The visitor lavatory down the hall.  

She should fake it.  

Roseline took a deep breath, turned on the faucet to mask any sound, and punctiliously slipped the test into her pocket. Then, she pressed her ear against the door.  

Silence.  

She had one chance.  

Moving quickly, she unlocked the door and tiptoed down the hallway. She reached the visitor lavatory, slipped inside, and locked it.  

Her plan changed into easy: She could use water—faucet water, something—to manipulate the result. She wasn’t sure if it'd work, however, she had to try.  

She carefully unwrapped the test, strolling it underneath the tap. Her heart pounded as she watched the display screen.  

One line.  

Negative.  

Relief washed over her, however she wasn’t secure yet.  

She moved quickly back to the main lavatory, slipped inside, and flushed the restroom for effect. Then, she opened the door and stepped out, maintaining her expression impartial.  

Ronaldo arched a brow. “Well?”  

She held up the check. “Negative.”  

For the first time, she saw something flicker in his expression—uncertainty.  

He took the check from her, tested it.  

Then, after an extended pause, he let loose a gradual, planned breath.  

“Well,” he mused, tossing it onto the counter. “It looks like I became wrong.”  

Roseline compelled a tight smile. “I instructed you.”  

Ronaldo stared at her for a protracted second, then reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I wish in your sake,” he murmured, “which you’re now not lying to me.”  

Her stomach twisted.  

He didn’t believe her.  

Not totally.  

And if he ever observed the truth…  

She wouldn’t live to see the effects.