Chapter 87: A Shocking Revelation

The pressure in the room thickened, choking the air between them. Roseline’s heart pounded as Ronaldo stood at the doorway, his expression undecipherable but his eyes burning with doubt. Her mind contended, desperately searching for an explanation, an escape — anything.

Sam was still outdoors, hidden in the murk, but he wouldn’t be suitable to stay there forever. However, he'd see him, if Ronaldo took indeed one step forward.

Roseline knew she had only seconds to act.

She forced a scarf, belting her arms around herself. “ What are you talking about? ” she asked, her voice wavering just enough to sound confused but not shamefaced.

Ronaldo narrowed his eyes, stepping further into the room, but thankfully, he hadn’t looked toward the window. “ I heard you bruiting, ” he said, voice low and dangerous. “ Who were you talking to? ”

Roseline let out a shaky breath, willing herself to appear exhausted rather than alarmed. “ I was soliciting, ” she said vocally. “Occasionally, it’s the only thing that calms me. ”

It wasn’t entirely a taradiddle — she * had * supplicated plenitude of times, soliciting for a way out.

Ronaldo studied her for a long moment, his jaw tensing as if mooting whether to believe her. Also, his aspect darted around the room. * Searching. Calculating. *

Roseline gripped her fists. He didn’t believe her.

But also, just when she allowed he'd demand to search the room, he exhaled sprucely and ran a hand down his face. “ I don’t have time for your games, Roseline, ” he murmured, turning toward the door. “ Get some rest. ”

She jounced, unfit to trust herself to speak.

Ronaldo dallied for a second longer before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

Roseline stood frozen, her cognizance straining to hear his steps retreat down the hall. The moment she was sure he was gone, she turned back to the window.

Sam was gone.

Her stomach twisted, but she couldn’t suppose about that now. She demanded to stay calm.

But deep down, she knew commodity was wrong.

\---

The next morning, Roseline moved cautiously, hysterical that Ronaldo would be watching her more nearly than ever.

She was right.

At breakfast, he sat across from her, quietly stirring his coffee, his gaze locked onto her like a bloodsucker staying for its prey to make the wrong move.

“ You slightly ate last night, ” he reflected. “ And the night ahead. ”

Roseline forced herself to take a bite of toast, indeed, though it tasted like ash in her mouth. I haven’t had an important appetite. ”

Ronaldo hummed. “ You’ve been more tired than usual too. Headaches, nausea. He listed his head. “ You’re not sick, are you? ”

Her breath hitched, but she kept her expression neutral. “ I’ve been under a lot of stress. ”

Ronaldo’s regard stoned. “ Stress ”

She jumped snappily. “ You’ve been busier than usual. The house feels different. I just feel alone. ”

The taradiddle tasted bitter on her tongue, but she demanded him to believe it.

Ronaldo leaned back in his chair, expression undecipherable.

Also, without breaking eye contact, he slid a commodity onto the table.

A crumpled tradition slip.

Roseline’s stomach dropped.

Her hand quivered as she reached for it, leveling it against the face. It was an old tradition — for antenatal vitamins.

The world around her listed.

How had he set up this? She had been * so * careful.

Ronaldo didn’t speak, didn't move, just watched as she reused the reality of the situation.

“ You want to tell me what this is? ” he asked eventually.

Roseline’s throat went dry. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Ronaldo leaned forward, his voice low and dangerously calm. “ Are you pregnant? ”

A bite ran down her chin. This can’t be passing. *

She demanded to lie. She demanded to find a way out of this.

But Ronaldo’s eyes — those cold, enduring eyes were locked onto hers, staying for the slightest flicker of weakness.

Still, he wouldn’t believe her. If he denied it outright.

Still, she'd lose everything, if she admitted it.

So, she did the only thing she could.

She laughed.

It was concave, forced, but it was enough to catch him off guard.

“ * Pregnant? * ” she repeated, shaking her head. “ Where did you indeed find this? ”

Ronaldo’s jaw gripped. “ Answer the question. ”

She let out a shaky breath, picking up the traditional slip and twirling it between her fingers. “I was feeling bad many weeks ago. I allowed perhaps, but it was nothing. The croaker said I wasn’t pregnant. ” She signed, pretending insouciance. “ I must have forgotten to throw it down. ”

A taradiddle wrapped in a half-truth.

She is conscious of herself to stay calm, to keep her palpitation steady.

Ronaldo didn’t speak for a long moment, his gaze lingering on her as if trying to peel back every subcaste of her deception.

Also, eventually, he sat back. “ Is that so? ”

She jounced, forcing a small smile. “ I would have told you if it was real. ”

The words felt like bane in her mouth.

Ronaldo studied her, his fritters tapping against the table.

Also he stood.

Roseline stayed impeccably still as he walked around the table, his movements laggardly, calculated. He stopped behind her president, placing his hands on her shoulders. His grip was firm — * too firm. *

She held her breath.

Still, ” he murmured against her observance, “ you’ll regret it, “ If I find out you’re lying to me. ”

Ice ran through her veins.

Also, as if nothing had happened, he released her and walked down.

Roseline didn’t move until she heard the door click shut behind him.

Her hands quivered as she gripped the traditional slip, her knuckles white.

He * suspected. *

And if she wasn’t careful, he'd * know. *

\---

That night, she met Sam in secret.

“ You need to leave, ” he said, immediately gripping her hands. “ We can’t stay any longer. If Ronaldo finds out — ”

“ I know, ” she murmured, voice coarse. “ But it’s not that simple. ”

Sam’s eyes darkened. “ He’s dangerous, Roseline. He won’t let you go. ”

She swallowed, her hands tensing around his. “ I don’t watch what happens to me, ” she said. “ But I won't let him take my baby. ”

Sam gobbled sprucely. Also, we move now. ”

Roseline dithered. She had been staying for the right moment, staying for the perfect occasion.

But there was no perfect moment.

Ronaldo was closing in.

Still, she might never get the chance, if she didn’t leave now.

Sam saw the flicker of vacillation in her eyes and squeezed her hands. “ Trust me. ”

She did.

Further than anything.

Roseline exhaled shakily, seesawing.

They had to move.

Tonight.

But as she turned to leave, a cold voice cut through the darkness.

“ Going nearly? ”

Roseline set.

She turned sluggishly, her heart slamming against her chest.

Ronaldo stood just bases down, his expression undecipherable.

Behind him, two of his men adjoined the entrance.

Sam’s grip tensed on her hand.

And in that moment, she knew —

They were trapped.