All Chapters of Ashes Of His Regret : Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

Damien’s POVShe comes home early, and I know it before I even see her.The elevator stops on our floor at four-forty-seven, and the time registers immediately because it is wrong. Esmeralda does not leave Morrison at four-forty-seven. She leaves at six-thirty on a light day, later when things demand more of her, and they almost always do. For a moment, I sit still at my desk, listening to the quiet hum of the apartment, already aware that something has shifted in a way I cannot yet name. It is not panic that settles into me, not yet, but a heightened awareness the kind that comes when instinct notices change before logic has caught up.The door opens, then closes again, and I tilt my head slightly, listening without meaning to. I have learned her rhythms without trying: the sharp sound of her heels when she is irritated, the softer, slower steps when she is tired, the way her bag lands when she is distracted versus when she is deliberate. Today, there is none of that. No immediate mo

Lila’s POV“Are you pregnant?”I don’t even realize I’ve said it until the words are already in the air.Esmeralda freezes for half a second, coffee cup halfway to her mouth, then she nods like she’s been waiting for me to catch up.“Yes.”That one word does something strange to my chest.I blink at her. “Like… actually yes? Or ‘I’m testing and panicking yes’?”“Actually yes.”I stare harder now. “Esme.”“Lila.”“No, wait.” I set my coffee down carefully, like I need both hands for this conversation. “Eight weeks kind of yes?”“Yes.”I lean back into the couch slowly, like my body needs time to process what my brain just heard.“Eight weeks,” I repeat. “And you’re just casually sitting in my living room like you didn’t just drop a whole future on me?”She exhales, a small almost-smile forming. “I came as soon as I could.”That softens something in me immediately, even though I’m still trying to catch up.“Who knows?” I ask.“Damien,” she says. “Dr. Obi. Dr. Chen.”I point at her. “So

Damien’s POV“Are you going to say it, or am I supposed to guess?”She doesn’t look up from her bag when she asks it.Just walks into the living room, drops it on the couch, and starts pulling her shoes off like she already knows I’ve been thinking too loudly.I exhale once.“I’m going to say it.”That gets her attention.She sits down slowly, turning toward me now. “Okay.”And that’s what she always does—she gives me the space to actually say things properly, instead of rushing me into versions of them.I study her for a moment.She looks tired, but not in a way that takes anything from her. It adds something instead. Like she’s becoming more herself instead of less.“I’ve been thinking about how to ask you this,” I say.Her brow lifts slightly. “That sounds dangerous.”“It isn’t,” I say. Then pause. “Not to you.”That softens her expression just a little.I shift fully toward her.“I need you to hear this without attaching it to anything that came before it,” I say. “Not the contrac

Chapter 147Damien’s POV“You’ve been going into your office too often.”Her voice comes from the kitchen doorway, casual but observant, and I glance up from the stove just in time to see her leaning against the frame with her arms loosely crossed. There’s something deliberate in the way she’s watching me, like she’s already halfway to a conclusion and just waiting to see if I confirm it. I turn the heat down slightly before answering, giving myself a second longer than necessary. “I work in there,” I say. She tilts her head.“You also work everywhere else,” she replies.That earns a small smile from me, because she’s not wrong.I wipe my hands and face her properly. “Are you accusing me of something?” I ask.“I’m observing a pattern,” she says. “You’ve opened that top drawer three times this week when you thought I wasn’t looking.”So she noticed.Of course she did.---I lean back against the counter, studying her for a moment before answering. She looks tired, but not in a way that

Lila’s POV“My name is Theo. Ms. Voss asked me to call you.”I’m already reaching for my bag before he finishes the sentence, phone pressed between my shoulder and ear as I move through my apartment with the kind of speed that only comes from knowing something important is happening. His voice is calm, professional, carefully measured, but there’s something underneath it, something that tells me this is not a routine update.“She is at St. Catherine’s Medical Center,” he continues. “Things are progressing.”That’s all I need.“I’m on my way,” I say, already at the door.**********The maternity ward waiting room is too small for the kind of moments it is meant to hold.I find a seat near the window, drop my bag beside me, and sit with my phone in my hand, staring at the screen without really seeing it. The room is quiet in the way hospitals are quiet, filled with low conversations, footsteps, and the occasional movement of nurses passing through. It is a space built for waiting, but n