Chapter 2

When Declan pushed the door open, I was huddled in the corner, my face ashen.

The trash bin held the pregnancy test I’d hastily hidden.

His tall frame blocked the light, and he knelt before me, his handsome brows slightly furrowed.

"Feeling unwell?"

He carried the scent of a long, dusty day. I knew he was busy, sometimes too busy to pay me much attention.

When we first started dating, he was incredibly attentive, and I could revel in his love, doing whatever I pleased.

But I didn’t know when, gradually, he had turned into this.

Sharp brows, eyes that could charm anyone.

But his gaze was dim, hard to read, as if it held so many unspoken things, even when he looked at me gently.

I slowly reined in my temper, no longer demanding things from him out of petulance.

He loved me, I knew that, but deep down, that love seemed tainted with something else, making me increasingly cautious, afraid to touch it.

As he looked at me like that, was he already thinking about how, four months from now, I’d be a part of his revenge plan?

Lying on a cold operating table, enduring such agony?

A four-month-old baby, its placenta fully formed... they'd have to tear it, *alive*, from my body.

What could my dad possibly have done to him to warrant such cruel revenge against *me*?

Perhaps the memories of my past life were too unbearable. This time, I didn't tell him about the pregnancy.

I buried my head in my arms, and after a long while, whispered, "It's nothing. Just a bad stomach. I'll be fine after a little rest."

Declan's hand paused, then slowly settled on my head, gently massaging my earlobe.

His voice, like his fingertips, held little warmth. "Okay."