Chapter 2 The Name on the Receipt

The alarm in Lyra's eyes lasted only a moment.

She quickly smiled, set the pot on the dining table, and picked up the ceramic mug with both hands.

"Cleo, you're back! This just came out of the kiln. I was going to have Forrest bring it back, but you got here first."

I took the mug and checked the date newly engraved on the bottom.

It was dated last night.

"Forrest told me your stomach has been bothering you, so I made you some soup. It simmered for over three hours."

Her gaze fell on my clothes. "Cleo, that outfit looks gorgeous on you. Forrest told me last night that my skin was too rough for fabric like this. You really are lucky."

I smiled and placed the mug in an empty spot in the display cabinet. "He's right. That kind of fabric isn't for you."

Lyra's smile stiffened.

I lifted the lid off the pot. Inside was soup made with wild mushrooms and scallops.

"Your shop was still losing money last month. You can't afford ingredients like these. Give me the receipt later. I don't want you running through what little money you have for living expenses."

"Cleo, I'm making money now. I'm not that broke student I used to be."

"Really?"

I pulled out my phone and opened the pottery shop's account records.

"Rent, utilities, supplies, and payroll are all paid out of a fund under my name. Your actual earnings last month were $2,700.

"Lyra, being able to support yourself is an accomplishment. Using someone else's money to pretend you're well-off isn't."

She bit her lip, and her eyes quickly reddened.

Forrest finally stepped in. He moved between Lyra and me, then seemed to catch himself and forced himself to step aside.

"Who said you could come here?"

Lyra looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. "Forrest, last night, you said—"

"Enough." Forrest's voice turned icy. "My wife was kind enough to support you financially, but that doesn't mean you can overstep your boundaries."

He pointed toward the door. "Take your things and leave. Next time, don't come here without permission."

Tears rolled down Lyra's cheeks. She picked up the pot and passed me. The corner of her scarf slipped aside.

The red mark was even clearer than it had been when I had glimpsed it through the crack in the door last night.

She left it uncovered and forced out a quiet apology. "Cleo, I'm sorry. I was naive and didn't know any better."

As soon as the door closed, Forrest took my hand. "Someone like her doesn't know where the boundaries are. I'll teach her."

He studied my expression, his thumb unconsciously rubbing my palm. "Don't let someone who doesn't matter ruin your mood. You just got back. I'll take you out to dinner tonight."

I pulled my hand away. Acid churned in my stomach.

Before I could say anything, I rushed to the bathroom and started retching.

Forrest followed me in, rubbed my back, and turned on the warm water with practiced ease. "Was something wrong with the food on the plane?"

I braced myself against the sink and stared at my pale reflection in the mirror. "Maybe."

His phone chimed. Lyra's name appeared on the screen.

Forrest quickly locked his phone, then stepped outside with it while I rinsed my mouth.

I did not follow him.

That morning, I went to the hospital alone.

When the doctor handed me the test results, he pointed to the findings.

"You're about eight weeks pregnant. The pregnancy is in your uterus, and everything looks fairly stable so far. But your condition isn't ideal, so try to avoid overexerting yourself."

I held the thin sheet of paper and stood there for a long time without moving.

Forrest had always wanted a child.

Last year, when I postponed trying to conceive because of work, he personally put together a six-month nutrition plan for me. Yet he never once pressured me.

He told me we could have a baby later. My health mattered more.

I folded the report and, for the first time, seriously considered giving him one last chance.

Just then, a purchase alert popped up for my secondary card.

$100,000.

The charge came from a jewelry store on the west side of town.

I called the store and provided the card number to verify my identity.

The sales associate checked the records. "Mr. Croft just picked up a diamond necklace. There's also a message on the gift card. Would you like me to read it to you?"

I looked down at the pregnancy report in my hand. "No, thank you."

The notes field on the receipt already had a name written in it.

Lyra.