Semua Bab Pregnant from the man I hate - A Billionaire Romance: Bab 51 - Bab 60

‘NO!’ I didn't know if I was screaming or just thinking. Everything happened at once. Noah Carter — or what was just in him — lifted the glowing hand towards Emil. Emil died. His little face was full of panic, but he didn't move. Like he'd seen this moment before. The older version of me ran. “Get down!” She threw herself before Emil. Right now, when a silver light shot from Noah's hand shot. A scream tore the house. Not Emil. Not Noah. You. The older Lena was hit by the light and was thrown against the window front. Glass torn. She fell hard on the wooden terrace outside and remained restless. My heart stopped. Noah blew right back. His eyes flickered. Amber. Brown. Amber. He pushed both hands to his head and cried. With his voice. And with Elias’. Two voices at once. “Go!” It was Noah. Just for a moment. I ripped Emil to me. My stomach was painfully drawn together. A new cramp. Stuffier. I'm glowing. And then I felt something warm on my legs. Wat

Nobody moved. Not even me. My newborn son lay in my arms, still warm, still bloody, so small that he should only scream and breathe. But his amber eyes were open. Wake. Conscious. And the worst: They looked at me like they knew me. My breath was stuck in my throat. The older version of me slowly went back from bed. Her face was creepy. She only whispered a word. “Too late.” Noah Carter still knelt in front of the bed, one hand on the floor, the other on his chest. The silver symbol on its palm glowed so bright that it Shade on the walls. He took the look. Saw our child. And I saw in his face the same moment when everything broke in him. Not because the baby spoke. It was because it spoke with Elias’ voice. The stubborn boy in the door frame came closer. Slow down. Like a kid who's curious. Only that nothing was childish. Emil was still lying on the wall. My heart wanted to him, to Noah, to my baby — and at the same time flee. The newborn moved in my arms.

Before I could hold him, Noah Carter ran off. Not like a man who was hurt. Not like someone who almost died. Like someone who finally understood what he had survived all the time. The silver light broke out of its skin like flames. It completely enveloped him. Its shape was vanished. For a moment, I didn't see Noah. I saw every version of him. The man at the lake. The man in the archive. The man who found me in every loop. Then he met Elias Carrow. The explosion threw away the roof of the house. Wood splintered. Rain broke into the bedroom. I cried his name. The baby in my arms began to cry again, and Emil clinged my arm, while outside the sea like a living being against the cliffs hit. Noah and Elias were only lights. Silver against black. They jumped against each other like two storms. Every impact made the house tremble. Windows completely disassembled. The older Lena fell to the ground, protected her head with the arms. I couldn't see. Noah screamed. A

Five years passed faster than I would have ever believed. And yet no single day was really common. Not after everything. Not after that night. Not after a newborn had spoken and then pretended nothing have happened. We never talked about it. Not loud. Not before the children. But Noah Carter and I sometimes saw it at the same moment: When our youngest son stood on the beach and looked at the sea for minutes as someone would call his name there. When Emil cried in the middle of sleep and the sentence murmured: This time not alone. Or if the medallion we are deep in a closed drawer kept, clicked very quietly at night. We lived anyway. Maybe that's why. Noah built the old summer house. A bigger veranda. A children's room with blue walls. A swing stand behind the dunes. He worked with his hands as if wood could have the past in something solid transform. And I left him. I wrote. For the first time since everything, I wrote again. Not about the archive. Not about

No one slept that night. Not me. Not Noah Carter. And the least Liam Carter. He sat all the time at the window of his room, dressed knees, looking at the Sea directed as if he were waiting for something. Or someone. We hardly talked. There was nothing to say. Emil was gone. Not dead. Not confirmed. Just leave. Like the sea took him back. Noah once went to the beach in the middle of the night, although I begged him had not left alone. He came back just before sunrise. Bye. Barefoot. With sand on his hands. And without a word. I didn't ask what he was looking for. Because I was afraid of the answer. The medallion was on the kitchen table. Closed. Nobody wanted to touch it. No one except Liam. He had taken it after dinner, laid it before him, and only viewed for minutes. Then he said something that let me freeze the blood: “She is afraid that I do not recognize her.” I was so abrupt that my chair fell back. Noah immediately took a look. “Who?” Liam only