Lahat ng Kabanata ng Stolen By His Rival: Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

The day began like any other.That was the unsettling part.Nothing announced itself. No warning. No clear reason for the heaviness that settled into my chest the moment I opened my eyes. It was just there, quiet and persistent, like something waiting to be acknowledged.I went through the motions anyway.Dressed carefully. Neutral tones. Hair pinned back just enough to look composed. The mirror reflected a woman who seemed entirely in control of her life.Only my eyes betrayed the truth.At the office, the hours moved, but I didn’t feel them pass.Emails blurred into each other. Numbers lost their usual clarity. Conversations required more effort than they should have. The nausea had eased, but something else had taken its place. A tightness in my throat. A strange, unsteady pressure behind my ribs.Hormones, I told myself.It would pass.It didn’t.By late afternoon, I found myself alone in my office, the door closed, the world kept carefully outside. The quiet pressed in on me, amp

The invitations started arriving two weeks after the news spread.Not one or two.Many.Dinners. Private gatherings. Closed-door events disguised as celebrations. Rooms filled with people who did not attend anything unless there was something to gain from it.Chris accepted most of them.Not all.Just enough.“We should be seen,” he said one morning, scrolling through his phone as he reviewed the week ahead. “It matters right now.”Right now.I sat across from him, untouched breakfast in front of me, nausea already building in quiet waves beneath my ribs.“For what?” I asked.“For alignment,” he replied, as if that explained everything. “Visibility reinforces position.”Position.Not happiness.Not family.Position.He glanced up briefly. “You don’t have to say much. Just be there.”Just be there.I nodded.The first event was small.Private.Controlled.A dinner with a handful of investors and their spouses. Soft lighting. Low voices. Expensive wine I was not allowed to drink.Chris’

The hospital discharged me the next day.Not because everything was fine.Because everything was “manageable.”Chris handled it.Of course he did.By the time I was dressed and ready to leave, the follow-up appointments were scheduled, the prescriptions collected, and a revised dietary plan had already been emailed to the staff at home.“Less sodium,” he said as we walked toward the car. “More fluids. I’ve already spoken to the chef.”Spoken to the chef.Not to me.I nodded anyway. “Okay.”“You’ll take a week off,” he added.I stopped.“I won’t.”He turned to look at me, expression flattening slightly. “You need rest.”“I need normalcy.”“You need supervision.”The word hit harder than it should have.“I’m not an invalid.”“You fainted.”“I was dehydrated.”“You’re pregnant.”There it was.The justification.The override.Every sentence ended there now.Pregnant.As if it erased everything else about me.“I’ll take a couple of days,” I said, keeping my tone measured. “Not a week.”“Th

The call came the next morning.Private number.I stepped into the corridor before answering, instinctively seeking space even when none was truly needed.“Mrs. Robinson,” the doctor’s voice came through, measured, professional. “We’ve reviewed your results further. I’d like you to come in today. There are some developments we need to discuss.”Developments.Not confirmation.Not reassurance.Just… something.“I’ll come,” I said.Chris insisted on joining.Of course he did.

He did not speak on the drive home. Not a word. The city passed by in clean lines of light and glass, the reflection of us faint in the window. Two figures sitting side by side, close enough to touch, separated by something that had finally surfaced in the open.I kept my gaze forward. I did not apologize. I did not explain. Silence was not new between us, but this felt different. Not empty. Not neutral. Deliberate.Punishment begins in quiet, I realized.By the time we reached the house, everything was already set. The staff had prepared dinner. The table was laid with the same careful precision as always. The illusion of normalcy was intact.He walked in first. Removed his jacket. Took his place. I followed. Sat across from him. We ate. He did not look at me. He spoke once to the chef about the seasoning. Once to his assistant over the phone about a meeting. Never to me.I finished what I could. Set my fork down. Waited. When the staff cleared the table and the last sound of dishes