Chapter 30 Meeting

Chapter 30 Meeting

Mireille went quiet on the other end for a few seconds, her tone guarded. "Emma, Sophie's not doing great right now. I don't think she's up for it."

"I know she's not well—that's exactly why I'm worried about her!" Emma jumped in, her voice laced with false sincerity. "I heard she was in a car accident in City A. It scared me to death. I just want to apologize in person and see how she's doing. How about this—let's do it at your place. I'll cook a few of Sophie's favorite dishes myself. You and Samuel can come too. It's been forever since the three of us sat down together."

She kept her tone humble, playing up the "old friends" angle, making it difficult for Mireille to refuse outright.

Mireille hesitated, then finally agreed.

Maybe Emma had come to her senses. Maybe she genuinely wanted to repair things with Sophie.

The moment she hung up, Mireille called Sophie.

"Sophie, Emma wants to get together for dinner. At my place. She even offered to cook." Mireille's voice carried a thread of uncertainty. "Do you… want to go?"

Sophie had just gotten back to her apartment from the train station, exhaustion crashing over her like a wave. All she wanted was to collapse into bed and sleep for a week.

Hearing Emma's name made her frown. Ever since that confrontation at the hospital and that probing call back in City A, their friendship had shattered beyond recognition.

She'd assumed Emma would fade out of her life for good.

But now, here she was, reaching out.

Sophie leaned back against the couch, pressing her fingers to her throbbing temples.

Emma's sudden olive branch caught her off guard.

Had that phone call made her reflect? Had she finally realized how far out of line she'd been?

A flicker of wariness stirred in her chest, but beneath it, a fragile thread of hope. After all, Emma had once been her closest friend. If she could let go of that jealousy and obsession, if she could go back to the way things were…

Maybe it was worth giving her one more chance.

"Okay. Tell her I'll come." Sophie's voice was quiet. "But I haven't had much of an appetite lately. Tell her not to go overboard."

Mireille felt a small wave of relief, though worry still gnawed at her. "Sophie, are you sure about this? I just have this feeling she's—"

"It's fine." Sophie cut her off gently. "Some things need to be said face-to-face."

Saturday afternoon, Emma arrived at Mireille's place half an hour early.

She wore a cream linen dress, her makeup barely-there and deliberately soft, crafting an image of understated elegance with a hint of fragility.

In her hands, she carried a large shopping bag stuffed with fresh ingredients.

"Mireille, sorry I'm early." Emma set the bag down in the kitchen, then turned to hug Mireille at the door, her voice light and sweet as spun sugar. "I didn't want Sophie to wait, so I figured I'd get a head start on the cooking."

Mireille returned the hug stiffly, unease prickling at the back of her neck. Emma's enthusiasm felt excessive, as if she were trying too hard.

It set off alarm bells.

"It's fine. Sophie's not here yet." Mireille kept her tone neutral, watching Emma carefully.

Emma smiled and drifted into the living room, her eyes casually sweeping over the coffee table and bookshelf, as if searching for any trace of Sophie.

"How's Sophie been lately? I heard from Mr. Carter that she's not feeling well. Is it her stomach again? She works herself to the bone, that girl." Emma moved into the kitchen, her voice floating out as she busied herself with the ingredients, every word laced with faux concern.

Mireille sat in the living room peeling fruit, but her ears were tuned in.

She knew Emma wasn't here for small talk.

"Yeah, same old issue. Her stomach's been acting up." Mireille kept her answer vague, deliberately skirting any mention of Sophie's pregnancy.

That was Sophie's private business. She wouldn't breathe a word to anyone who didn't need to know—especially not Emma.

"Poor thing. She really needs to take better care of herself." Emma's voice drifted from the kitchen. "When she went to City A on that business trip, was that why she couldn't look after Mr. Carter properly?"

Mireille bit back a cold laugh. There it was—the real question.

"Mr. Carter has Aiden. He doesn't need Sophie worrying about him." Mireille's response was smooth, neatly sidestepping the trap.

Emma's knife paused mid-chop. She could feel Mireille's walls up, impenetrable. She wasn't getting anything useful out of her.

Frustration simmered beneath her skin, but she couldn't afford to seem too eager.

"By the way, Mireille, what have you been up to? I noticed you haven't been posting much on Instagram." Emma switched tactics, hoping to circle around from another angle.

"Just busy. Nothing special." Mireille remained airtight.

Emma clenched her jaw, silently fuming. It was clear she wasn't going to get anything out of Mireille.

She rinsed her hands with more force than necessary and walked back into the living room, ready to sit down.

Mireille's phone sat on the coffee table, screen glowing with unread notifications.

Emma's gaze flicked over casually—then froze.

A push notification from a baby products app: [Limited Time Offer! Brand Name Strollers—New Mom Must-Haves—Grab Yours Now!]

Another one followed: [Pregnancy Calcium Supplements, Prenatal Formula—Nourish You and Your Baby!]

Emma's heart slammed against her ribs.

Strollers? Prenatal formula?

Her eyes snapped to Mireille, sharp with suspicion.

Since when had Mireille been looking at this stuff?

Her mind raced, though her face held a mask of delighted surprise. She set down what she was holding and slid onto the couch next to Mireille, looping her arm through hers with exaggerated affection.

"Mireille, do you have some good news you're hiding from us?" She gestured toward the phone, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I just saw the notifications. You can't keep secrets from me."

Mireille followed her gaze, her expression tightening. She snatched up the phone and locked the screen.

"It's nothing. Just browsing." She slipped the phone into her pocket, her tone flat as she redirected. "What are you planning to cook today? I can help."

The deflection only confirmed Emma's suspicions.

She didn't press. Instead, she smiled sweetly. "No, no. I'm here to make amends. I can't let you lift a finger."

But inside, she was smirking.

Mireille's evasiveness felt like a confession.

Just then, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the apartment. Samuel walked in, arms loaded with bags of fruit and snacks.

"I'm here! Do I smell something amazing or what?" Samuel's voice boomed cheerfully. Then he spotted Emma on the couch. His smile dimmed slightly, but he gave her a polite nod.