Chapter 44 44.

Chapter 44 44.
Chapter 44: Ashley’s POV

I stepped out into the hallway, clutching my updated medical folder against my chest, a quiet sense of relief settling over me. The baby was healthy—that was all that really mattered. Everything else, the teasing, the arguments, the confusing warmth that seemed to creep in whenever Marcus was near… it all felt smaller, lighter, somehow.

But that feeling lasted only until I rounded the corner toward the waiting area.

Marcus was still there.

He hadn’t left. He was leaning back in his chair, one ankle crossed over the other, scrolling through his phone—but as soon as I appeared, his screen went dark and his attention snapped directly to me. Like he’d been waiting.

I stopped short, raising an eyebrow. “You’re still here? I thought you had your own checkup.”

“I did,” he said simply, standing and tucking his phone back into his suit pocket. “Finished ten minutes ago.”

“Then why haven’t you left?”

His dark eyes dropped briefly to the folder in my hands before meeting mine again. “I wanted to hear how it went.”

My breath caught, just a little. No games, no teasing, no dry remarks—just straightforward, genuine concern. It threw me off balance every single time.

“Everything’s fine,” I said, forcing a light tone as I started walking toward the elevators. “Baby’s healthy, measurements are good, heartbeat’s strong. The usual.”

Marcus fell into step beside me, his long stride matching mine easily. “Good. You look… relieved.”

“I am. After the dizzy spell, I was half-expecting to be put on bed rest or something.”

“Bed rest wouldn’t be the worst thing,” he said, a faint edge of something like amusement in his voice. “It might force you to stop working twelve-hour days and arguing with executives.”

I huffed a laugh, pressing the elevator button. “I don’t argue that much. You just happen to be particularly arguable.”

The elevator doors slid open, and we stepped inside. The space felt smaller than usual, the quiet hum of the machinery filling the brief silence. When the doors closed, Marcus turned to face me fully, his expression growing more serious.

“Did she give you any new instructions?” he asked. “Diet, activity, things to avoid?”

I blinked, caught off guard by how attentive he was. “Just the usual. Rest when I’m tired, stay hydrated, avoid too much stress. Standard stuff.”

“Stress,” he repeated, as if weighing the word. “That’s a broad instruction.”

“Tell me about it.” I leaned back against the wall of the elevator, crossing my arms. “Easier said than done when you’re surrounded by people who think teasing is a competitive sport.”

A small, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of his mouth. “I suppose Vanessa and Steve did get carried away.”

“Got carried away? They practically wrote a whole thesis on your behavior around me.” I shot him a look. “And you didn’t even defend me. You just sat there looking like you were watching a documentary.”

Marcus tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady. “Defend what? That I’m polite to you?”

“Polite? That’s not what they were implying and you know it.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to the lobby. We walked out into the bright, cool air of the entrance hall. Marcus’s driver was already waiting by the black luxury car, holding the door open—but Marcus didn’t move toward it immediately. Instead, he turned to face me fully.

“Vanessa knows me well,” he said quietly, his voice lower now, more private. “But she also tends to read too much into things.”

My heart did that annoying little flip again. “And what exactly is there to read into?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. He just looked at me—really looked—like he was seeing more than just the woman standing in front of him. Then, he gave a small, almost unreadable nod.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he said finally. “Just… take care of yourself, Ashley. Both of you.”

Before I could respond, he turned and walked toward his car, pausing only to glance back once. “I’ll have my assistant send over a list of nutritionists and prenatal specialists. It’s good to have options.”

“Marcus—”

“Consider it a courtesy,” he said, sliding into the back seat. “Goodbye, Ashley.”

The car pulled away smoothly, leaving me standing there on the steps, my folder still pressed to my chest and my mind spinning.

A courtesy, I repeated to myself as I walked toward my own car. Right. Just a courtesy.

But as I drove away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more—something unspoken, lingering in the air between us, growing stronger with every passing day. And for the first time, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to run from it.

The next few days passed in a strange, quiet rhythm. Simone stayed true to her word—she spent her time resting, catching up on old friends, and making sure I was actually taking it easy instead of trying to handle everything at once. Nash was there too, steady and protective, and it was nice to see them both looking a little lighter, a little more at home.

True to his word, Marcus’s assistant sent over the list of specialists within twenty-four hours. It was detailed, organized, and even came with notes about availability and insurance coverage—like he’d personally made sure it was useful, not just a generic list. I told myself it was just his way of being efficient, but I still found myself staring at the email longer than necessary.

I was at Orwell Manor on the fourth day, sitting in the garden with Simone, sipping iced tea and watching the butterflies flit between the flowers. The afternoon sun was warm but not harsh, and for once, there was no urgent email, no meeting, no teasing comment to throw me off balance.

“You’re quiet,” Simone said, breaking the silence. She was watching me with that same knowing look she’d had when we first talked about the trip.

“Just thinking,” I said with a small shrug. “About everything, I guess.”

“About Marcus?”

I groaned, "no." Rolling my eyes even as a faint warmth crept up my neck. Why does everyone always assume it’s always about him?