A Long-Planned Love

When I got the pregnancy test results, I still could not believe it.

Pregnant.

Charlie Newman and I were married for a year under a business contract. We were meticulous–careful to the point of paranoia. There was no way this should have happened.

So where did the tiny life inside me come from?

First, I never betrayed him.

Second, I have never been with anyone else.

Third, if it was not his; Whose could it possibly be?

And yet, of all times, it had to happen now.

In just a few days, our marriage contract would expire.

Once the date hit, we would part ways–clean and simple. No lingering ties. If we passed each other in the future, we wouldn't even need to exchange greetings.

What about now?

I let out a long breath, my hand unconsciously resting against my stomach.

A memory surfaced–something I once asked him casually.

"Do you like children?"

He sat on the sofa, posture relaxed but face cold as frost. His eyes were dark and unreadable.

Three words.

"Don't like them."

Now? A child neither of us planned for showed up anyway.

Right before we were supposed to go our separate ways.

When I got home, the lights in the living room were on.

Charlie was walking out of the kitchen with a plate of steak in one hand, still holding the spatula in the other.

He hates outsiders in the house. Ever since we got married, he handled every single meal himself.

When he heard the door, he lifted his gaze slightly and nodded once.

"Wash up. Eat."

Four crisp words. Efficient. Minimal.

He never wasted syllables.

I tightened my grip on my handbag strap, debating whether to take out the test report.

Before I could decide, he suddenly looked up and fixed his eyes on me.

His gaze was sharp–like a blade sliding straight into my chest.

'Forget it. I'll tell him after dinner.'

The table was quiet except for the scrape of cutlery against porcelain.

Exactly like every other night.

Then, unexpectedly, he asked, "Bad mood?"

I froze, then instinctively shook my head.

He frowned slightly. "Maxed out your card again?"

I shook my head.

"Didn't get the limited-edition shoes you wanted?"

Another shake.

He paused for a moment. His tone remained flat, but something beneath it shifted.

"Tired of this?"

Tired of what?

The food being too bland?

Or was the man sitting across from me being too dull?

I looked up abruptly and met his expressionless face.

Maybe I imagined it–but the corners of his usually straight lips seemed to dip ever so slightly.

I scratched my ear, stalling before I finally spoke.

"Um, our marriage contract is about to expire, right?"

The moment the words left my mouth, he set down his knife and fork and looked at me.

The glance was calm.

However, for some reason, it felt unbearably heavy.

After a few seconds of silence, he said hoarsely, "Yes."

Hearing him confirm it stirred a faint ache in my chest.

Still, I pressed on.

"I know we're supposed to part on good terms. And I know this past year, you've taken good care of me. In business and in private, I owe you."

The Sullivan family company made a comeback from the brink because of him.

My extravagant lifestyle? Also because of him.

And me?

I did not really give him anything tangible in return.

His brows lowered slightly.

"Olivia Sullivan. Get to the point."

I drew in a deep breath and flung the report onto the table in front of him.

Then I shut my eyes.

Waiting for judgment.

Silence.

A long silence.

So long, I started wondering if I actually killed him with shock.

Panic shot through me. I knew this violated the core condition of our contract.

I rushed to explain.

"Um, it has to be yours. I didn't tamper with anything, I swear. It was completely accidental. I'll take care of it. We’ll part on good terms. I won’t cause you any trouble at all, and I won’t cling to you. From now on, we’ll go our separate ways."