Married to the Wrong CEO

Chapter 78: Short Trip

It was bad. Bad enough to make her feel as though she might cough up her lungs, her chest burning as tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision.

Her head spun, her eyes spurn with it even as she did her best to remain standing.

No matter how hard she tried to steady her breathing, the urge to throw up only worsened, rolling through her in relentless waves that left her trembling and weak.

’It feels worse than being sick’ she thought to herself wondering if that was how pregnant women felt or it was simply her case that had taken a turn for the worse.

She stayed bent over the sink for a long while, gripping the porcelain edge with white knuckles as she gagged helplessly. Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror—pale, exhausted, eyes rimmed red—but she barely registered it.

Eventually, when her strength gave out, she slid down until she was sitting on the cold bathroom floor. Her back pressed against the wall, the chill seeping through her clothes, yet she hardly noticed. A wry, humorless smile tugged at her lips even as tears continued to slip down her cheeks. Time seemed to stretch and blur, minutes melting into one another until she lost track of how long she had been there.

It wasn’t until she heard a soft knock on the bathroom door that she finally lifted her head. A second later, the door swung open, revealing Guila standing there with a deeply concerned expression etched across her face. Her brows were drawn together, her eyes scanning Dora’s slumped form on the floor.

"Are you okay?" Guila asked gently, her voice thick with worry. She wore her usual black and white unirom with her grey hair bound on her head in a bun.

Her slightly wrinkled face showed her age but her eyes showed a determination that said she could achieve anything she put her mind to.

Dora slowly nodded her head in response, though the movement felt heavy, as if even that small effort took more energy than she had to spare.

"Could be worse," Dora managed to say, forcing the words out with a weak attempt at humor. Her throat felt raw, and her voice came out hoarse, but she meant it—or at least, she wanted to.

Guila stepped inside and closed the door behind her, kneeling slightly to reach Dora’s level. She lightly patted Dora’s shoulder, her touch warm and reassuring. Guila spoke softly, offering comforting words that Dora only half heard, her thoughts still drifting sluggishly.

"You could take a hot shower," Guila suggested. "It would help."

Dora nodded again, her gaze unfocused as she stared somewhere past Guila’s shoulder.

"I’ll order the chefs to prepare something light," Guila continued. "Something that’ll help settle your stomach."

"A warm broth without heavy spices would also help" she told Dora asnsbw spoke with concern on her face.

Dora nodded once more, not quite trusting herself to speak. Guila hesitated, clearly wanting to do more, but eventually she stood up and left the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind her.

Only after Guila was gone did Dora finally push herself up from the floor. Her legs felt unsteady as she rose, but she managed. She turned the faucet and filled the tub, deciding against the shower she had initially thought she wanted. When the water was ready, she eased herself into it, sinking down until the warmth wrapped around her aching body.

She stayed there for a long while, soaking in the heat. The water relaxed her tense muscles and slowly dulled the lingering nausea. Her breathing evened out, and her thoughts became less scattered. By the time she finally climbed out, toweling herself dry, she felt marginally better—relieved that the worst of the sickness had passed, though a deep fatigue still clung to her bones.

Once dressed in a pair of comfortable pants and a loose shirt, she left the bathroom and made her way toward the dining area. She assumed Dante would have long since left; after all, a significant amount of time had passed.

She had just stepped through the double doors when her eyes widened in surprise.

Dante was still there.

He stood by his chair, his hands folded across his chest, his posture rigid and composed in a way that immediately told her he had been waiting. The sight of him sent an unexpected jolt through her chest. He moved toward her with his usual neutral expression, his face carefully controlled, unreadable as ever.

Dora stepped closer as well, a small smile forming on her lips as she opened her mouth to greet him—but she never got the chance.

"Are you okay?" Dante asked, concern flickering unmistakably in his voice.

"I heard that you were throwing up," he added, his gaze fixed on her face as if searching for signs that she might still be unwell.

Dora smiled, relief softening her features. Dante might look and act cold, distant even, but moments like this made it obvious that he wasn’t heartless. At the very least, he cared for the baby—even if he didn’t care for her.

"I’m okay," she said lightly. "These things happen."

He nodded once, as if accepting her answer, before continuing.

"I’ll get a nutritionist," Dante said, his tone practical. "And a couple of in-house nurses to attend to you."

"It should make the process easier for you!" he told her in a reassuring manner.

Dora nodded in response. If it would make things easier for her, there was no reason to refuse.

"That would help," she said quietly.

Her eyes drifted to the food laid out neatly on the dining table. Her stomach gave a small rumble, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten in hours. Just as she was about to move toward the table and sit down, Dante spoke again.

"I also wouldn’t recommend that you go out too often," he said. "I intend to take care of Tiberio, but he’s more slippery and cautious than I thought."

"Getting a handle on where his location his has been very difficult and worse he has a lot of men under him that do his bidding!" Dante warned even as Dora instantly took his warning seriously.

Not needing a reminder of the thousands of things that would have gone wrong the last time she met Tiberio.

She paused, listening intently as he continued.

"I’ll be going on a trip overseas for a month," Dante said. "I should be back by the end of August."

Dora’s eyes widened before she could stop herself. Shock rippled through her, her mind struggling to process the information. Her heart reacted before logic could catch up, beating a little too fast, a little too hard.

"It’s a work trip?" she asked, hating the faint thread of emotion clinging to her voice. She held his gaze, searching his cold, neutral expression for answers he didn’t give.

And it’s not because I’m pregnant and you’re trying to avoid me? she wondered silently.

She bit down on her tongue, nodding as she walked past him toward her chair at the table. She sat down, smoothing her clothes in a small, automatic gesture.

"I understand," she said, forcing calm into her voice. "I’ll see you in a month, then."

Dante said his goodbyes shortly after. She listened as his footsteps faded, followed by the soft, almost careful sound of the door closing behind him.

Dora picked up her spoon and stared at the food in front of her. The meal was simple—mostly white rice and lightly cooked vegetables. The spices were minimal, the aroma gentle yet inviting. Normally, she would have eaten eagerly, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

Dante.

She would be lying if she said she hadn’t already begun making plans in her head—plans on how to convince him to allow her to stay back as a nanny once the baby was born. The truth was, the more real the baby became, the harder it was for her to imagine walking away. And worse than that, she liked Dante.

It was stupid. Very stupid.

But she couldn’t help it.

She enjoyed sleeping with him. She enjoyed his presence, his quiet intensity. And she knew that even if they didn’t love each other, there was no reason they couldn’t remain married and raise the child together.

Hell, he could take as many lovers as he wanted, and she could travel to another country if she needed space, she thought with a faint frown.

Was it selfish? Yes.

But wouldn’t she be a fool not to try? freёwebnoѵel.com

The thought repeated itself over and over as she finally began to eat, the spoon moving slowly from plate to mouth. She glanced around the luxurious dining room, its polished surfaces and soft lighting reflecting her calm exterior.

The nausea was gone, and in its place was resolve.

By the time Dante returned, she would do everything she could to make him see her in a better light—enough that he wouldn’t see a problem with her staying.