Chapter 18

The sun was beginning to set, casting a soft golden glow over the room as I sat at my vanity. The light perfectly framed my reflection, highlighting the careful strokes of makeup I had just applied. My hands moved with precision, sweeping a soft shimmer of eyeshadow over my eyelids, followed by a delicate line of eyeliner that made my eyes pop. I finished with a bold red lipstick that instantly brightened my face, then added a few strokes of mascara to my lashes. A final dusting of powder completed the look. As I sat back and admired myself, a question surfaced in my mind: Why am I doing this?Was this just for me, or was there another reason I wasn't willing to admit?

I pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the uncomfortable feeling lingering from my argument with Clara. I hadn't yet found the courage to apologize to her, and the guilt weighed heavy on my heart. But tonight, I decided, I would keep to myself and focus on the present.

I slid into the knee-length black shimmer gown I had picked for the evening. The fabric hugged my body perfectly, emphasizing the curve of my growing bump. This is just a dinner, not a date, I reminded myself, though the knot in my stomach seemed to disagree. I took one last glance in the mirror before heading downstairs.

Leornard was already waiting, seated on the couch in his usual black suit, his expression unreadable. I cleared my throat to announce my presence, and when his eyes met mine, they widened in surprise. His gaze lingered, scanning me from head to toe, and a flicker of satisfaction sparked within me. It was the reaction I'd been hoping for, and I couldn't help but feel a small thrill.

He stood, still staring at me as he approached. "You look beautiful," he said softly, his voice carrying an unfamiliar warmth.

"I know," I replied, feigning nonchalance, though inside I was secretly pleased with myself. He gave a half-smile, offering his hand to me.

"Shall we?"

"Thanks, but I can walk by myself." I smiled, brushing past him and heading for the door. I heard him follow after a few moments, his footsteps quiet against the floor.

The car ride to the restaurant was silent, but the tension in the air felt different, charged with something unspoken. When we arrived, I was momentarily distracted by how upscale the restaurant was. The interior gleamed with sophistication, the chandeliers casting a warm glow over the tables. It reminded me of the first time he took me out, but unlike that time, I felt more at ease in my dress-though the reminder of my prominent bump gnawed at my confidence.

We were led to a table near the back, offering a view of the surroundings. I picked up the menu, but nothing appealed to me. My mind was too preoccupied with other thoughts, like the fact that Leornard had been acting differently lately-more protective, almost possessive.

I glanced up to see him glaring at the waiter, who had been sneaking glances at me. A smirk tugged at my lips. It was petty, but seeing Leornard get irritated over something as trivial as another man staring at me was oddly satisfying. It reminded me of Kelvin-how he would get jealous when other men showed interest.

My smirk faded as the thought of Kelvin brought a harsh realization crashing down on me. Clara had hinted that Leornard might have feelings for me, and now I couldn't help but wonder if she was right. Was that why he had been acting this way? Did he-

"Your wife is beautiful, sir," the waiter interrupted my spiraling thoughts.

Wife?

"Thank you," Leornard responded without missing a beat, his tone sharp. "Now, stop staring at her."

I blinked, my heart racing. Did he really just call me his wife? This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't part of the deal. I had to get out of here.

"I want to leave," I blurted out, my voice more forceful than I intended.

Leornard frowned. "We just got here."

"I'm not hungry."

"You're not hungry?" he asked, clearly confused.

"No, I mean, I am, but not for anything here," I muttered, shoving the menu away.

"You can make a special order," the waiter suggested.

"No, thank you." I stood abruptly, ignoring the concerned look on Leornard's face as I made my way to the exit. I could hear his footsteps behind me as we stepped outside.

"Eva, wait," he called after me, catching up as I reached the sidewalk.

I stopped and turned to face him, my frustration bubbling over. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

I exhaled, trying to calm the swirling thoughts in my head. "I'm fine," I said, though I wasn't sure if I was convincing either of us. Maybe this was all in my head. Maybe I was overreacting.

"I want ice cream," I said, mostly to distract myself.

He raised an eyebrow. "That's not food."

"That's what the baby wants," I shot back with a slight smile, trying to lighten the mood.

After a moment, he relented, and we strolled down to a nearby ice cream shop. Once we had our cones, we found a bench along the sidewalk and sat down. I watched him eat his ice cream, his stern expression softened by the absurdity of the situation.

"I know it's not part of the deal, but why do you want a baby so badly?" I asked, breaking the silence.

He didn't answer right away, and I pressed on. "You're still young. Why go through all this trouble?"

"Are young people not allowed to want children?" he countered, though his tone lacked the usual bite.

"That's not what I mean. You chose a surrogate-me."

He sighed, clearly exasperated. "Even if I wanted to tell you something personal, this wouldn't be it."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. How old are you?"

"That's irrelevant."

I pursed my lips. He was skilled at dodging questions. "Okay, what about your work? Tell me about that."

"My father built the company. I'm just maintaining it for now, but I plan to pass it down to my son." His voice was matter-of-fact.

"Son?" I echoed, surprised by his certainty.

"Yes. It's a boy."

"You don't know that."

"I believe it is," he said confidently, taking another spoonful of ice cream.

Before I could respond, he started coughing-hard. My teasing died on my lips as his cough worsened, and I turned to him in concern.

"Leornard, are you okay? Do you need water?" I looked around for a store, but when I turned back, he was holding a handkerchief. Blood stained the white cloth.

My heart dropped. "Leornard..."

"I'm fine," he interrupted, quickly pocketing the handkerchief. "We should go."

"But..."

"I said I'm fine." His voice was cold, cutting off any further questions. I flinched at the harshness in his tone. Once again, he had shut me out.

As we walked back to the car, I couldn't stop thinking about the blood, the cold detachment in his voice. Something was wrong with Leornard, and for the first time, I realized how little I truly knew about him.