I'm still angry.

I'm still angry.
Diana

I was sitting on the sofa, fiddling with my nails like someone about to explode at any moment. As soon as I heard the door slam and Ethan’s footsteps entering, my chest tightened. He was taking off his suit jacket, exuding that irritating charm of his, acting as if he hadn't just turned my life upside down without warning.

"Babe?" he called out, tossing his keys onto the counter.

I just stared at him. Seriously... I was looking at him the way one looks at a crime suspect.

He noticed it immediately.

"What is it?" he asked, frowning suspiciously.

"Nothing much," I replied, wearing that fake smile any smart man would see right through. "I just wanted to... know why you bought the company where I work."

The way he stopped dead in his tracks... wow, that gave it all away. His body went rigid, as if I’d just announced a bomb had gone off in the backyard.

"So you... found out," he said quietly.

"I did," I confirmed, crossing my arms. "Why did you do it, Ethan?"

He took a deep breath—the kind that told me an excuse or a confession was coming. Or both.

"Diana..." he ran a hand through his hair. "I did it for you."

"For me?" I almost laughed. "Oh, sure, totally for me... because it’s completely normal to buy an entire company just to 'help,' right? Everyone does that."

He stepped closer slowly, as if I were about to bolt or bite him.

"You wanted stability. You wanted a place that recognized your worth. I just ensured that."

"By buying the whole thing?" I raised an eyebrow. "Ethan, that is, like... the extreme of the extreme."

"But it worked," he countered with total nerve. "Didn't it?"

"It worked so well that today I was called a gold digger and told I only got promoted because I’m 'the owner's wife.'" His eyes flickered; his expression turned truly serious.

"Who said that?" His tone went cold instantly.

"It doesn't matter." I raised a hand. "I didn't come here to ask you to pick a fight with anyone. I came to ask you... why? Really. Why didn't you tell me?"

He stayed quiet. Quiet in a way that made me angry.

"I..." he tried to speak but stalled again. "I didn't want you to think I was controlling you. Or giving you a gift you hadn't asked for. I wanted to protect you. To give you something secure because of the baby... and because I know how much you love being there."

"Protecting me is one thing, Ethan. Keeping things from me is another."

He closed his eyes for a second, as if gathering courage.

"I was afraid, Diana. Afraid you’d feel... small. Or pressured. That you’d think I was buying your career."

That hit a little harder, because I could see it wasn't just an excuse. He really believed that.

I sighed, exhausted. The anger was still there, but mixed with... I don't know, a sort of exasperated affection.

"Ethan, I’m pregnant, my hormones are going haywire every day, and I’m trying not to lose my mind. You don't help matters by hiding things this big."

"I know," he said, his voice low. "I messed up. I really did."

I stared at him. He stared at the floor. The room was so silent I could hear my own racing heart.

"I don't want a husband who thinks he needs to solve everything for me," I said. "I want a partner. I want... you with me, not standing in front of me, doing everything before I even know about it."

He looked up, and that melted away some of my irritation.

"Okay," he said. "I’ll tell you everything from now on. But... don't ask me to regret taking care of you. I won't." The anger had morphed into that annoying feeling of "I get it, but I’m still mad." The worst kind.

I sighed again.

"Ethan..."

"Tell me how you’re feeling," he asked. "But really."

I sat on the sofa, tired of the argument, tired of myself, tired of everything. He sat down next to me but left a gap, as if I might bite him. Cute idiot.

"I feel... surprised. Kind of exposed. Kind of stupid for not realizing it sooner. And annoyed because now everyone’s going to think I’m only there because of you, not on my own merit."

He looked at me so seriously that I felt a warm glow in my chest.

"You would have been promoted even if I’d never gone near that company. I bought it because I wanted to get rid of anyone who couldn't see that."

I lowered my head.

Damn him for saying the right things when he wanted to.

"I’m still mad," I admitted.

"I know," he replied. "And I’ll spend the whole night apologizing if I have to."

I took a deep breath.

He held out his hand without touching me—just leaving it there, waiting for me to decide.

And I took it.

Because yes, I was mad.

But I was also pregnant.

And tired.

And I loved this idiot.

I got up from the sofa and pulled his hand.

"Let’s talk in the bedroom. I can’t argue out here in the living room anymore; it feels like there’s an echo."

He chuckled.

"Are you going to yell at me in the bedroom?"

"Maybe," I shrugged. "Depends on how sincere you are."

We went upstairs together.

He was quiet, but he had that look—like he was ready to take a beating, but also ready to pamper you.”

I was ready to say more, ask more, to let out everything that had been stuck in my throat all day.

And I was going to.

But right there, in that hallway, holding his hand…

I knew we’d work it out.

Like always.

“Close the door,” I said. “We aren’t done talking.”

He closed it.

And I took a deep breath.

Ready to go on.