Chapter 2

"Whose last name?"

Hale frowned. He looked at me as if I were a delusional patient talking in her sleep.

"Windsor Higgins, there’s no need to make things up."

Whenever he called me by my full name, his voice carried a distinct, condescending edge.

"Make things up?"

"Aren't you?" His tone was calm, almost brutally so.

"Windsor, I know this is hard for you to accept. But the more you talk like this, the more it makes me feel..."

He didn’t finish. His phone buzzed.

Screen up, the caller ID read: Samantha Selby.

He glanced at me, hesitated for half a second, and answered.

"Yeah, they measured it... Right, no need to alter the main gown. The one with the long train... My mom said the ceremony needs to be perfect."

He turned his body away to talk, as if doing so would make me deaf.

I looked down at my faded hoodie. It was a clearance item he bought on Amazon last year, two for twenty bucks.

Back then, he still squeezed onto this twin bed with me, whispering that he’d buy me a mansion once he made money.

It turned out his "future" never included me.

He hung up. He pushed the invitation a little closer to me.

"The Peninsula Hotel, the twenty-eighth. Everything is set. If you have financial demands, make them now. Don't make a—"

"Scene?" I finished his sentence. "Hale, it’s been three years. Have I ever made a scene?"

He pursed his lips, silent.

The doorbell rang.

His face tightened. He clearly didn’t expect anyone at this hour.

The moment the door opened, a wave of expensive woody perfume drifted in.

Samantha stood in the hallway. "Hale, I just finished my lab and was passing by. My mom made some soup—"

She stopped. She saw me. More specifically, she saw my belly.

The air froze for about five seconds.

She was the first to break the silence. She smiled at me and extended her hand.

"Hi, I’m Samantha."

Hale stood beside her, adopting a practiced, sophisticated posture I had never seen before.

"This is Windsor. My... friend."

Friend.

I looked down at my swelling abdomen and suddenly found it incredibly hilarious.

Samantha walked in and placed the insulated bag on the table. Her eyes swept across the tiny, 200-square-foot room.

"You're pregnant? How many months?" she asked, her tone dripping with concern.

"Have you been getting your anatomy scans on time? You need to watch out for gestational diabetes in the second trimester. My father is an OB/GYN specialist."

She was a PhD candidate in medicine, the daughter of Hale's mentor, Dr. Selby.

"Five months."

"Five months? You have to be extra careful." She turned to Hale, her voice holding a hint of gentle scolding.

"Why didn't you mention this? I could have got her an appointment with a top specialist."

A look appeared on Hale's face—one I had never seen in our three years together.

It was gratitude mixed with guilt, like a little boy who had done something wrong but was readily forgiven.

"No need," I said.

She smiled and didn't push.

Hale went to the bathroom to take another call.

The moment the door closed, Samantha’s smile didn’t fade, but it turned ice-cold.

"Windsor, right? Hale told me about your situation."

She unscrewed the thermos, and the rich aroma of the soup filled the room.

"Don't be nervous. I'm not here to throw you out."

"Honestly, I understand you. No family, pregnant, living in a place like this... Anyone in your shoes would want to grab onto an opportunity."

She used the word opportunity.

I said nothing.

"But you have to understand Hale, too." Her pace was slow and steady, like a therapist soothing a fragile patient.

"The Harman family isn't some ordinary family. What he’s offering you is already his utmost kindness."

"A legal marriage... demanding that will only hurt you."

The sound of running water continued in the bathroom.

She took a sleek credit card from her designer bag, placed it on the table, and tapped it toward me.

"A hundred thousand dollars. Hale asked me to give this to you. Use it to settle down after the baby is born."

She paused, her manicured finger tapping the plastic card twice.

"If you're willing to quietly disappear before the wedding, I’ll personally add another hundred thousand. Two hundred thousand. It's a lot of money."

The water stopped.

She withdrew her hand, and her perfect, calculated smile snapped back into place.

"Hale, I saw the blueprint for that one-bedroom apartment on the East Side. It faces north, so it gets barely any sunlight."

"I'll have my dad vacate one of his luxury apartments. It gets great southern exposure. A pregnant woman needs her vitamin D."

Hale hesitated.

Samantha gently pressed his arm. "She's carrying your child. She deserves a decent place."

I stood up and grabbed my coat.

He asked, "Where are you going?"

"Out for a walk."

Samantha called out behind me, "It's chilly outside. Bundle up, don't let the baby catch a cold."

I opened the door and paused, looking back.

"Miss Selby, you sure love worrying about other people."

"But you can't even tell who this soup was actually made for. Out of the three people in this room, I'm the only one who hasn't eaten dinner."

Her smile didn't break, but her fingers tightened around the thermos.

As the door clicked shut, I heard Hale’s muffled voice through the wood. "What does she mean by that?"

Samantha replied sweetly, "Oh, nothing. Pregnant women are just emotionally unstable. It's totally normal."