Elara forced herself to stay calm, though her thoughts were spiraling. She understood exactly what the Rourke family wanted. The child wasn't about her—it was about lineage, legacy, control. And if she gave birth, there was no guarantee they'd let her keep the baby by her side.
But this child... this was a life connected to her own flesh and blood. How could she just hand the baby over like a transaction?
That thought alone made her heart twist.
Damien stood nearby, watching her with unreadable eyes. Though he didn't press her, he knew she was already cornered. She had no escape left. And retreating to gain the upper hand—well, it had always been one of his favorite tactics.
"So," he asked, voice clipped and cool, "what's your decision? My time is limited."
Elara lowered her gaze, her mind spinning. There was no returning to the past—Archer was gone, and everything else had collapsed behind her. Just spending one night in that hotel with Damien Rourke had nearly cost her everything. Her grandmother had almost kicked her out.
If news of this pregnancy reached her family, it would be the final nail. Her job would vanish, her future with it. She and her mother would be left with nothing.
There was no escape.
She clenched her jaw and said quietly, "Fine. I'll marry you. I know the Rourke family wants this child... so long as we're married, I'll carry the baby."
Before she could even finish speaking, Damien turned on his heel and headed for the door. "Then prepare for the wedding. You're on leave now—rest as much as you need."
---
News traveled fast.
Elara's manager received an unexpected notice from corporate: Elara Wynn was under special protection by direct order of the president. She'd be on indefinite leave with full pay and bonus.
The entire office went into a frenzy.
A low-ranking employee? Getting VIP treatment from the cold and unreachable CEO?
One female colleague—who usually dumped her workload on Elara—turned pale. What if Elara had some kind of leverage? Did she do something... scandalous?
Others, however, were full of regret. If they had known throwing themselves into the CEO's arms could work, they never would've mocked Elara. They would've tried first.
But their plans were swiftly shut down.
A bold woman from another department decided to try her luck, dressing up and waiting near the CEO's private elevator. She staged a fall—right into his arms.
She was fired within an hour.
The news stunned everyone. Any remaining ambition died on the spot.
And yet, the mystery deepened—what made Elara so special?
---
At the hospital, Elara received exclusive treatment. A full medical team was assigned to her alone. The ward was quiet and pristine. The meals—delivered by top-tier chefs—looked more like a banquet than a hospital lunch.
She strolled briefly through the hospital garden, trying to shake the restlessness in her chest, but before long, a group of nurses swarmed her.
"Young Miss, it's chilly today. You shouldn't be out in the wind. Early pregnancy is delicate," one warned gently.
"The chairman instructed us to ensure your well-being," another added.
Surrounded, Elara gave up on her walk and nodded. "Fine. I understand."
Back inside, she wandered toward her ward—and stopped in confusion.
A line of chefs was wheeling trays toward her room.
What now?
Hurrying ahead, she opened the door and was stunned to see a full lunch service being arranged—dozens of elegant dishes laid out like a private feast.
One chef turned and bowed. "Good afternoon, Miss. These are the lunch selections prepared by the chairman's order. If there's anything you don't like, we can adjust the menu."
Elara blinked in disbelief. "This is all... for me?"
It was too much. She could never eat it all.
"I'm fine with something simpler. This is—" she started, but the chef gently interrupted.
"The president will be joining you shortly. These are his standard lunch items."
Her mouth parted slightly.
Wait, what?
Damien Rourke... was coming here? For lunch?
Before she could ask, she heard the crisp, unified voices of staff from the hallway: "Good afternoon, President!"
Elara froze.
She didn't turn. Her back remained to the door, shoulders tense. Even though she had agreed to marry him, he was still—essentially—a stranger.
Damien stepped inside, his tone calm and direct. "What are you waiting for? Sit."
As he took a seat, a staff member approached with a towel. He cleaned his hands with the same practiced precision he used for everything—once, twice, then a third time—before picking up his knife and fork.
His movements were refined, his posture impeccable.
Elara could only watch from the side, still trying to understand the surreal new world she had just stepped into.