Chapter 9
Having hardly eaten a morsel all day, Cassandra gave directions to the Dustmeadow Mansion’s chef to whip up some spaghetti as she got back.
The sight of the dish–loaded with carrots and minced meat–should’ve stirred her to chow down. Instead, a swell of nausea swept over her just looking at it.
Initially, she chalked it up to running on empty for so long. But when she tried to lift a spoonful to her mouth, she was hit by a wall of sickness that roared through her.
Cassandra bolted to the bathroom, caught in the grip of violent dry heaves.
It was one hell of an ordeal, feeling as if her insides got caught in a blender. It finally eased after what felt like forever. Cassandra shook it off, only to find herself face–to–face with Orlando.
Sporting a blank stare, Cassandra looked at Orlando, gobsmacked. “When’d you get back?” she stammered. It’s like he ghosted in without a peep.
Orlando’s face was a mask of indifference, his brooding eyes trained on her. “What’s up with you?”
A shadow of panic flashed in Cassandra’s eyes before she gathered herself and lied smoothly, “I’m good.”
“You sure about that?” Orlando pushed, a frown etching itself on his face.
Quick to put him at ease, Cassandra fired back with a bright smile. “Absolutely! What do you reckon happened to me?”
Her eyes betrayed a fleeting panic before she managed to cloak it completely.
Orlando didn’t miss the glimpse of her fluster. He bore into her with his deep blue eyes, as if trying to see straight into her soul.
After a long time, he said indifferently, “Cassandra, you better not be pregnant.”
He didn’t say, “are you pregnant?” Instead he said, “you better not be pregnant.” Similar words, but the meanings were miles apart.
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Chapter 9
Cassandra’s eyelashes fluttered, and an icy grip squeezed at her heart.
He had outright denied the possibility of her pregnancy without a sliver of hesitation.
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Cassandra looked dead into Orlando’s eyes, managing a smile. “If I was pregnant, would you let me keep the baby?”
“There’s no way you could be pregnant,” he retorted, his assertiveness resounding in his voice and mirrored in his steady gaze.
Orlando’s response carved a deep wound in Cassandra’s heart. It hit hard that he’d never even considered that they might share a child.
She swallowed the hurt and managed a weak smile. “You seem pretty sure. Why the doubt? You always made sure we were protected, remember?”
Save for the one night when he was too drunk to remember anything. That, however, was not something Cassandra was ready to remind him of. She held her composure, no trace of emotion crossing her face.
Her answer was exactly what Orlando wanted to hear. But her biting smile tweaked something in him; it was as if a sharp barb had brushed past his heart, stirring an inexplicable discomfort.
Orlando’s frown deepened a little, and his gaze intensified. They held each other’s gazes for a moment before he casually suggested, “If you’re feeling under the weather, why don’t you visit a doctor? I can have Taylor set it up.”
Taylor York was Orlando’s secretary.
Cassandra shook her head in refusal. “No thanks, I can manage on my own.”
“If your health’s on the line, don’t get all stubborn. Or do you want me to go with you?” Orlando assertively added.
“Orlando, I said I’d go on my own. Besides, you and I are splitting up. Do I need to count on you for everything? You think Rebecca would be cool with that?” shot back Cassandra.
Orlando stayed silent, his demeanor gradually turning icy.
Cassandra mentally reprimanded herself, ‘See? He doesn’t give a damn about you. You mean nothing to him. The only woman he cares about is Rebecca.
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Chapter 9
Orlando biting his tongue only drove her self–mockery deeper. A quiet standoff ensued. After a spell, Orlando eased his frown, asking out of the blue, “Did you spill the beans about the divorce to the Jackson family?”
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