CHAPTER SIX: THE BEGINNING OF SOMETHING

The hospital lights were too bright, almost harsh, reflecting off the white walls and making the room feel colder than it already was.

I sat on the edge of the examination bed, hands clasped tightly in my lap, my heart pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears.

I told myself to stay calm, but my body wouldn’t listen. My palms were sweaty, my chest tight, and the silence between each tick of the clock was unbearable.

Across the room, Lorenzo stood near the tall window, hands tucked into his pockets, his sharp gaze fixed on the city outside.

His posture was as straight and commanding as always, his presence filling every corner of the room even without a word.

I wanted to look away, but my eyes kept drifting back to him, searching for some clue as to how he felt. Did he even care about the results we were waiting for?

The door finally opened, and my stomach dropped.

The nurse stepped inside, a small folder held carefully in her hands. Her expression was soft, almost gentle as her eyes found mine. “Miss Bautista,” she said quietly, “the results are ready.” She paused for a breath. “You’re pregnant. Congratulations.”

The world seemed to stop.

I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat wouldn’t budge. Pregnant.

The word echoed inside me, each repetition sending shivers down my spine.

My eyes stung with tears, but I held them back as I dared to glance at Lorenzo.

For the first time since I’d met him, his expression shifted. The usual coldness in his features melted, even if just slightly. His lips parted, his eyes locked on mine with something I couldn’t quite name.

“Pregnant,” he repeated slowly, his deep voice steady.

Then, before I could react, he crossed the room in two long strides and pulled me into his arms.

The sudden warmth of his embrace made me freeze. His chest was solid against mine, his arms wrapping around me with a strength that was both protective and overwhelming.

My body trembled as I inhaled the faint scent of his cologne — clean, sharp, and masculine.

“You did it,” he murmured, his voice low, almost gentle.

The way he said it — not cold, not businesslike, but with quiet pride — made my chest ache. Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them.

I wanted to say it wasn’t just me, that we did it, but my voice failed me. All I could do was hold onto the warmth of his embrace, a warmth I didn’t know I craved until now.

When he finally let go, his eyes still held that softened look, though it quickly faded back into his usual calm. He turned to the nurse, his tone firm again. “Schedule her for the best care. Regular check-ups, daily vitamins, and a nutrition plan. She gets nothing less than the best.”

“Yes, sir,” the nurse said with a polite nod before leaving us alone.

I wiped my tears quickly, embarrassed that I had let him see me so vulnerable. But deep inside, something had shifted.

On the drive back to the penthouse, silence filled the car. Yet, unlike before, it wasn’t the heavy, suffocating silence I had grown used to. This time, it was almost… thoughtful.

I pressed my hands against my stomach, my mind spinning. Pregnant. A child was growing inside me. His child.

I sneaked a glance at Lorenzo. He was staring out the window, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. The city lights flashed across his sharp features, making him look untouchable — and yet, when his eyes shifted and caught mine, I saw something flicker there. Something I couldn’t name.

“You should rest when we get home,” he said suddenly. His tone was low, but not unkind.

“I will,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He leaned back in his seat, but his gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he looked away again.

Inside the penthouse, I expected him to go straight to his office like he usually did, but instead, he walked beside me until we reached the living room.

“Sit,” he said firmly, motioning to the couch.

“I can—”

“Sit, Luciana,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I sank onto the couch, my heart thudding. He loosened his tie, looking oddly restless, then picked up his phone.

“From now on,” he said into the phone, “all her meals are to be delivered here. Make sure the portions are right for her condition. No delays. And schedule her first appointment for next week. Daily vitamins too.” He glanced at me briefly, then added, “Send someone I trust.”

When he hung up, he moved closer and crouched slightly, so we were nearly eye level. “You’re not allowed to skip meals. No carrying heavy things. No stress. Do you understand?”

I blinked at him, surprised at how serious he sounded. “You’re… being really strict.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re carrying my heir. I won’t take chances.”

The words should have felt cold. But instead, the way he said them — steady, protective — made my chest twist.

He paused, his gaze dropping briefly to my stomach. Then, to my surprise, his hand reached out. Slowly, carefully, he rested his palm over my belly.

I froze, every nerve in my body standing on edge. His hand was warm, steady, the gentle weight of it sending shivers down my spine.

“You’ll be safe here,” he said quietly, almost like a vow. His thumb moved in the smallest circle, a touch so tender it left me breathless.

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. My throat tightened, and all I could do was watch his expression — calm, serious, but with something softer flickering in his eyes.

I swallowed hard. “It’s… strange,” I whispered. “Knowing there’s a life growing inside me.”

His eyes lifted to mine, holding me in place. “It won’t be strange for long. You’ll get used to it. And you won’t go through it alone.”

The way he said it made my heart pound.

I nodded slowly, my hands brushing over his. I didn’t mean to, but the small contact sent a warmth spreading through me I hadn’t felt in years.

He seemed to realize it too because he pulled his hand back quickly, straightening up. “Rest. I’ll have your dinner brought here soon.”

That night, I lay awake in the large bed, staring at the ceiling. My hand rested gently on my stomach, remembering the warmth of his touch. The contract had given me everything I wanted for Grandma — the house, the security.

So why did it feel like I was losing something more precious than I had gained?

I rolled onto my side, only to jolt when I saw him standing at the doorway, his eyes fixed on me.

“L-Lorenzo,” I whispered, my pulse quickening. “What are you doing here?”

He stepped into the room, his tall figure casting a shadow across the floor. “I wanted to check if you were resting.”

“I am,” I said softly, though my voice trembled.

He came closer, his gaze steady but softer than I’d ever seen. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just studied my face, almost as if he was trying to read my thoughts.

Then, in a voice lower than a whisper, he said, “If you ever need anything, you tell me. No matter what.”

My chest tightened, my throat too dry to answer.

And before I could find the words, he turned and left the room, leaving me staring after him with my heart racing — and a question I wasn’t ready to face.

Was I beginning to want more than what we agreed on?

Knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. Before I could move, Lorenzo’s voice echoed down the hall. “I’ll get it.”

I sat up quickly, smoothing my hair, not knowing why I suddenly cared how I looked.

Moments later, he returned with a tray carried by one of the staff. The aroma of warm soup and freshly baked bread filled the room. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until that moment.

“Eat,” he ordered, setting the tray on the bedside table.

“I can eat in the dining room,” I offered quietly.

“You’ll eat here,” he replied firmly, pulling a chair closer to the bed. Then, to my shock, he added, “I’ll eat with you.”

My eyes widened. “You don’t have to—”

“I said I’ll eat with you.” His tone left no room for protest, though it wasn’t as cold as before.

I bit my lip, watching as he uncovered the bowls. He picked one up and placed it in front of me, then sat back, his gaze steady as I took the first spoonful.

The warmth of the soup spread through me, easing the knots in my stomach. For the first time in days, I felt a little comfort.

“You need more iron,” he remarked after a moment. “I’ll have the kitchen add spinach and lean meat to your meals.”

I blinked at him. “You… you looked that up?”

His jaw tightened, as if he didn’t want to admit it. “Gino mentioned it.”

I almost smiled. Almost.

Silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. He watched me eat, making sure I finished everything, and only then did he touch his own food.

“You don’t have to stare at me,” I murmured, my cheeks warm.

“I’m making sure you don’t skip,” he replied simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

I lowered my gaze, my chest tightening again. Every little thing he did tonight chipped away at the walls I had built around myself.

When the meal was done, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back. “From now on, I’ll eat with you whenever I’m here. No excuses.”

I looked up at him, startled. “Why?”

His eyes locked onto mine, intense and unreadable. “Because you’re not doing this alone, Luciana. I won’t allow it.”

My breath caught. He didn’t say it softly, didn’t lace it with sweetness. It was firm, commanding — but the meaning behind it made my chest ache.

Later, as I lay back against the pillows, I couldn’t stop replaying his words. Not alone.

The contract said otherwise. The contract made it clear — I was just the baby maker. Nothing more.

So why did his actions make me wish it was something else?

As I drifted to sleep, the last thing I remembered was the warmth of his hand brushing mine when he reached for the tray — and the way his eyes softened for just a second before he looked away.

Deep inside, I knew I was slipping into dangerous territory.