He’d murmur, "I shouldn’t have touched you," as if the guilt alone absolved him.
So, when I realized I was pregnant, fear consumed me. I kept the secret locked away, too terrified to face him.
But at Imogen Langley’s welcome-back dinner, my carefully hidden truth unraveled. My pregnancy report was exposed in front of everyone.
That night, Cohen had no choice but to agree to an engagement.
He believed everything was a carefully woven scheme to trap him in marriage.
But the truth emerged later, unraveling through the investigation. The pregnancy test report had been deliberately exposed by Imogen. Desperation drove me to take the surveillance footage straight to Cohen, hoping to prove my innocence.
Instead of listening, he raised his hand and slapped me hard across the face.
"Giselle, have I wasted all these years teaching you?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the silence.
"You dare to slander Imogen? I’ve been far too indulgent with you all these years."
His words left me shaken, but my heart screamed with questions he’d never answer.
If Cohen truly didn’t care, if I meant nothing to him, then what was all the passion we shared? What was the meaning behind every heated glance and whispered word in the dead of night?
When a classmate confessed to me, why did he abandon an important meeting, fly back overnight, and drag me home? What did it mean when he insisted on organizing my art exhibition, claiming my work deserved the best?
He placed me high on a pedestal, only to rip it away beneath me. What did it all mean?
"Rest well, Giselle. The day after tomorrow, you’ll attend Imogen’s exhibition with me," he said coldly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"You’re not allowed to refuse for any reason." His stern command reverberated through the room.
To ensure I obeyed, he instructed the housekeeper to keep me from leaving the house.
When he left, he took my phone with him. The cracked screen had sliced his hand, but Cohen merely frowned as if it were nothing.
"Still so careless. I’ll get you a new phone after the exhibition. Until then, stay offline."
With the flowers Imogen loved in his hands, he hurried out, not sparing a glance back.
The pain hit me like a freight train, sharp cramps ripping through my lower abdomen, but the anger inside me only surged higher. I swallowed it down, softening my voice, desperate.
"I don’t feel well. Could you take me to the hospital?"