Lahat ng Kabanata ng Pregnant By The Billionaire: Kabanata 111 - Kabanata 120

Mira’s P.O.VThe morning didn’t arrive all at once—it seeped in slowly, like a reluctant tide. A gray light filtered through the pale curtains, painting faint shadows across the room. The faint perfume of lavender clung to the air, heavier now, as if the walls themselves had absorbed it overnight.I woke with a weight in my chest that had nothing to do with sleep. My body felt stretched thin, skin taut around the swell of my stomach. The baby pressed upward, restless against my ribs. I shifted carefully, letting my palms rest on either side of the curve, murmuring soft words into the quiet.The cradle caught my eye again. Always there. Its polished wood gleamed even in the weak light, standing sentinel near the window. I had tried not to look at it the night before, but this morning it seemed impossible to ignore. The emptiness of it felt louder than any sound in the villa.I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the cool boards against my bare feet grounding me for a moment. Every

Mira’s P.O.VThe hours after Luca left the study passed in fragments, not in whole pieces.I drifted from one room to another, tracing the same polished halls as though the walls themselves might shift if I caught them at the right moment. But they never did. They only stared back, smooth and unyielding, their silence pressing closer with each step.By late afternoon, I found myself in the villa’s sunroom, a space that looked as though it had been designed for someone else entirely. Glass stretched across three walls, tall panes catching the slant of the sun. The light poured in unrestrained, gold at first, then tinged with amber as the day tilted toward evening. Dust clung to the air again, but here it glowed warmer, suspended in the beams like tiny stars.The wicker chair creaked faintly under my weight when I lowered myself onto it. I smoothed the robe across my knees, then rested my hands against the taut swell of my stomach. The baby shifted

Mira’s P.O.VThe night had settled fully by the time the lamps in the sunroom were lit.Soft amber light spilled across the tiled floor, chasing away the sharpness of the glass walls but not their weight. Outside, the garden was gone to shadow, the roses nothing more than dark shapes swallowed by the night. Only the faint line of the pine trees remained visible, their silhouettes stretching upward like blackened spines.I sat back in the wicker chair, the blanket now draped loosely across my lap. My body ached with the heaviness of the day—the baby pressing insistently beneath my ribs, my ankles swollen, my chest tight with a restlessness I could not shake.Across from me, Luca had not moved much since sitting down. He leaned back, one arm resting over the chair’s edge, posture deceptively casual. But his eyes… they never softened. They followed every shift in me—the way I pressed my hand against my stomach, the way my shoulders sagged under the weight of exhaustion.The silence betwe

Mira’s P.O.VThe rhythm of footsteps drew closer, steady and unhurried. Every click of leather against marble seemed to echo twice as loud inside my chest. My fingers tightened around the edge of the table, the wood cool beneath my skin, as though bracing could anchor me against the inevitable.Then the door eased open.Luca stepped into the kitchen as though he owned not just the villa, but the very air inside it. He wore a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, collar undone just enough to reveal the sharp line of his throat. The morning light caught the edge of his jaw, shadowing half of his face and sharpening the other.His gaze found me immediately. Always.“You’re awake early.” His voice was smooth, steady, but the undertone carried weight—something between accusation and quiet interest.I pressed my hands against the cup still on the table, though the tea inside had already cooled. “I couldn’t sleep.”H

Mira’s P.O.VThe corridor stretched ahead of me, pale and endless, each step swallowed by the silence. Manang Silva’s words clung to me like a second skin—Not all of them loyal. They echoed louder than the sound of my own breathing, louder than the faint creak of my swollen ankles against the marble floor.I kept a hand pressed to my stomach as I moved, tracing the edge of the wall with my other fingers, grounding myself in the cold smoothness of polished stone. The baby shifted inside me, a small roll, as though restless with the weight of the house’s silence too.Halfway down the corridor, I saw her.Ana.She was standing near one of the tall windows, her back partly turned, her arms full of freshly folded linens. The pale light of the afternoon cut across her face, softening her features, making her look younger than she already was. Her lips were moving faintly, whispering something I couldn’t hear, as though she were reciting a thoug