Chapter 411
Brielle’s stomach churned uneasily as she stared at the pregnancy test in her hand, feeling utterly clueless for the first time. She had attempted to tear open the wrapper several times but couldn’t muster the courage. Instead, she just leaned back on the couch, trying to alleviate the pain in her abdomen.
It was almost laughable that a woman could forget to take precautions during an intimate encounter with a man.
Was Max’s devilishly handsome face so distracting, or did she, somewhere deep down, actually want to leave something behind from their fleeting moments together?
But this lovesick foolishness was so not Brielle.
She sighed, simply sitting on the couch, lost in thought. Eventually, she fell asleep right there, slumped over the armrest.
When she woke up at nine in the morning, dark circles had taken up residence under her eyes. She was already late for work. Glancing at the pregnancy test, still unopened, Brielle massaged her temples and headed to the bathroom to freshen up. Finally, she ripped open the wrapper.
Six minutes later, she stared at the two lines on the stick, her mind going blank. The pregnancy test felt like it was burning her hand. Once she snapped back to reality, she chucked it into the trash bin.
With no appetite for breakfast, she sat back on the couch, zoning out just like the night before. Her computer automatically updated with new messages.
Photos of Alivia and Max had already hit the front–page headlines. And there was Alivia, supporting a figure dressed in an elegant suit. The media only captured a back shot. Speculation was rife that this was Max’s mother–Martha.
Brielle stared blankly at the screen as every channel buzzed with news about the power couple. The media was even hyping up their matching rosaries, positing that the wedding bells would ring within the month.
Whispers suggested that even Martha’s return to the country was to orchestrate Max’s nuptials.
“A match made in high society heaven.”
“Are the golden girl and golden boy compromising for love, or is it just another tale of aristocratic romance?”
“Everyone loves a storybook romance, and Max and Alivia are living proof that fairy tales come true.”
Beyond the media frenzy, online commenters were leaving thousands of messages, and the buzz was relentless.
Brielle, staring at the photos and videos, along with the revelry of the comments, felt eerily calm. She knew full well the clout Alivia wielded in Beaconsfield, so none of this came as a surprise.
Her thoughts drifted back to the pregnancy test with the damning two lines. She had no idea
what to do next.
By noon, she dragged herself to Dorsey International, still in a daze. It was clear to the whole department that she was distracted. Even the documents she reviewed were riddled with
errors.
“Ms. Haywood, if you’re not feeling well, maybe you should take a sick day?” her colleagues suggested, genuinely concerned for her well–being.
Brielle seemed to snap back to reality, noticing her scribbles on the documents, and again. pressed a hand to her temple.
“I’ll be okay in a bit,” she assured them.
But just then, Spencer walked in. Brielle’s face darkened immediately. Why couldn’t this guy. take a hint?
Spencer noticed the slightly pale look on Brielle’s face, his eyes full of triumph. “Alivia only just got back, and she already can’t stand it?” he thought.
The employee standing by, aware of the past grievances between the two, wisely left. Once she had left, Brielle looked up without courtesy. “Get out.”
But Spencer didn’t seem angry, rather there was a sense of smug satisfaction. “Brielle, Uncle Max left you to go pick up Alivia. You must be very upset?”
Brielle thought Spencer was seriously sick in the head. She was never pleasant to him, yet he kept coming back for more.
“I’m indeed very upset. You know how thirsty I am.” She said with mock severity, trying to rattle
him.
Spencer, however, seemed taken aback and struggled to respond. “Since when did you start talking so coarsely?” But he couldn’t deny the rush of excitement he felt.
The words Brielle had uttered yesterday-“I do enjoy being with him on bed“-had haunted his dreams all night, her voice echoing, her flushed face haunting him.
Spencer had gone through adolescence like anyone else, but this was the first time since reaching adulthood that he felt embarrassed by a dream about a woman. In the morning, he had even thrown away his pants in a guilty panic, as if they were tainted with his dirty thoughts.
