Chapter 2

By the time I got back to the Foster Estate, it was already dark. I closed my umbrella and stepped inside. The foyer lights were on, and Edward Foster's leather shoes were lined up neatly beside the cabinet. He was home early today.

The housekeeper came to take my bag and said hesitantly, "Mrs. Foster, Mr. Foster seems to have been waiting to have dinner with you."

I glanced toward the dining room. Sure enough, there were two place settings on the table, and Edward Foster sat at the head with an untouched glass of red wine in front of him. When he looked up, my chest tightened.

He looked unfairly good even in loungewear, all sharp brows, dark eyes, and a clean-cut jawline, that aloof air of privilege impossible to miss. "You got caught in the rain?"

"Yeah. I forgot my umbrella."

"Go change, then eat." I nodded, went upstairs, and by the time I came back down, he was already seated at the table. The housekeeper brought out hot soup, and we ate in our usual silence, like strangers sharing a meal.

But I was completely distracted through that dinner. My mind kept circling back to the report. Seven weeks. I counted the days, and it lined up exactly with that night two months ago, when he had drunk too much and been rougher than usual. Still, the baby couldn't possibly be his.

But none of that was the point. The point was, the baby couldn't possibly be his.

I poked at my food mechanically when I suddenly heard him speak. "The Foster Family is having a family dinner tomorrow. You're coming with me."

"Okay."

"Wear the dark green dress."

"Okay."

He seemed slightly thrown off by how obedient I was, but he said nothing else. After dinner, he went to his study like always. The second I shut my bedroom door, I leaned against it and slowly slid to the floor.

Run. I had to run before he found out and before the Foster Family noticed. I needed an excuse to leave first, then I'd find somewhere to end the pregnancy and pretend none of this had ever happened.

If Edward Foster found out, if the Foster Family found out, I was done for. They would investigate, dig to the bottom, and demand to know whose child this was. And I couldn't answer. If I couldn't answer, then it would be betrayal.

The Foster Family would never allow a scandal like that.

I got to my feet and started packing. I couldn't take much; one suitcase was enough. My documents, cash, a few changes of clothes. I pulled open the closet and opened the bottom drawer where I kept my papers and emergency cash.

Just as I reached for them, something hit me. My passport had been taken last week for a visa application. They'd said Edward Foster was taking me overseas on business, and it still hadn't been returned. I searched the drawer again. It really wasn't there.

Shit. I shut the drawer and forced myself to calm down. I'd go to the company tomorrow and get it, say I needed it urgently, and leave the moment it was in my hands. Just as I settled on that plan, someone knocked on my door.

Knock knock. My heart skipped a beat. On instinct, I kicked the suitcase into the closet.

"Who is it?"

"Me." His voice came through the door, low and unreadable. I took a deep breath and opened it.

He was standing outside with a glass of warm milk in his hand. "The housekeeper said you barely ate dinner, so she asked me to bring this up." I took it, thanked him, and waited for him to leave. But he didn't.

His gaze moved from my face to the collar of my pajamas, then past me to the suitcase behind me. I followed his line of sight and felt my scalp go numb. I'd hidden it too badly; one wheel was still sticking out from the closet.

"Going somewhere?"

"N-no. I was just sorting out my clothes for the season." I lied, gripping the glass so hard my fingers hurt.

He gave a quiet "Mm," and I couldn't tell whether he believed me. Then he lifted a hand, braced it against the doorframe, and leaned down slightly.

He was too close. I could smell cedar and red wine on him. "Charlotte Sinclair," he said, my name low on his lips. "Where did you go today?"

"Shopping."

"You were out shopping all day?"

"Yeah."

He looked at me, something unreadable hidden in those eyes. A moment later, he withdrew his hand, turned, and walked away. I shut the door, my back already slick with cold sweat.