Eastiel looked down at himself and at the grease-stained overalls. His work boots were scuffed and worn from countless work hours. The sar of soot was still darkening his jaw.
He had forgotten to wash it off in the chaos of the afternoon, didn’t he?
Fucking fu—
He was still wearing his stupid work clothes.
Dumbaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaass!
Oh, what a cute little dumbass you were, Eastiel. He had been so excited. So giddy. So fucking high on the word Baby and the shopping bags and the way Cecilia had looked at him like he was the only man in the world.
He had forgotten what he was wearing. Yes, you might’ve thought he was nonchalant about it, but actually he was just sharing a brain cell with a street cat.
What did it look like, a man like him bringing a woman like her to shop around? A woman in an Armani gown whose purse cost more than his truck? And him, in overalls, swiping a black card that probably made the saleswon think he had stolen it?
Stupidaaaaaaass!
He could not bring her sowhere with a dress code. Not like this. He wasn’t the kind who cared about dress codes, mind you. He had spent his entire life ignoring dress codes, flouting dress codes, walking into fancy places in work boots just to see the maître d’s face twitch.
But what would she think of him? That was what mattered!
She was a billionaire’s wife! A billionaire who wore immaculate suits and stood on stages accepting awards for his revolutionary barrier designs! And Eastiel had taken her shopping in a grease-stained truck—
No, no, no. He needed to be smart about this. He needed to—
His phone rang.
It rang through the cab, incongruous with the spiral of panic currently consuming Eastiel’s brain. The na on the truck’s center console screen glowed and it said, "Bro Oath."
Eastiel tapped the screen, connecting the call through the truck’s speakers. "What’s up?"
"What’s for dinner?"
The voice that filled the cab was deep and smooth and faintly accented. A faint rustling sound ca through the speakers alongside the distant murmur of a busy store.
"It is my turn?" Eastiel frowned, his spiral montarily derailed. "Man, I don’t know. I kinda wanna eat out today."
"Fucker."
The voice from the other side sounded unimpressed. "I’m already at the grocery store. Just dropped off my shift, so don’t play with ."
Eastiel glanced at Cecilia. She was still asleep, her face peaceful, her chest rising and falling slowly. The streetlights, passing overhead, cast alternating bars of gold and shadow across her features.
Hmmm.
"Hey." His voice dropped, becoming quieter. "What do you think about company? Like... serious pretty company?"
He wanted to have her for himself just a bit longer. Just a bit. But his luck had probably run out for today. He had already been given more than he had any right to expect.
The shopping, the Baby, the way she had looked at him with those impossible eyes and trusted him to take care of her. Maybe the universe was telling him that ti was up.
There was a pause on the other end of the line. A long pause.
"Who—" Oathran’s voice had dropped to a whisper, low and intense. "—wait. You an serious pretty gorgeous immaculately graceful company?"
"Yeah." Eastiel answered softly. "Get it? Cook sothing safe, man. We have to impress."
"Alright." The rustling on the other end intensified. "Hanging up. You’re driving? Drive safe."
"Yeah. Cool, cool, cool." Eastiel’s eyes flicked to Cecilia again.
Blip.
The call ended and the truck humd on. Eastiel, his hands steady on the wheel, was giddy.
This... counted as a romantic dinner, right? Ho-cooked al by his best cook of a brother? The apartnt was clean since Arkai cleaned it not long ago. Also, Oathran was a neat freak about the kitchen, at least. The food would be good, and Cecilia would be there, and—
Well, isn’t this perfect?
***
Cecilia felt a sense of weightlessness wash over her while she was still half-asleep. It was the floating sensation of being carried, strong arms beneath her knees and shoulders and a steady heartbeat against her cheek.
The gentle, rhythmic sway of soone walking carefully so as not to jostle her made her stir, just barely, her eyelids fluttering. But she didn’t wake up.
Eastiel’s scent surrounded her, so she decided not to wake. She let her head rest against his chest and let the weightlessness carry her.
Only when an irresistible, delicious aroma drifted through her senses quite a while later did she slowly open her eyes.
The living room was vast and immaculate, decorated in the brutalist style that seed to define this world’s modern aesthetic.
The walls were smooth but with an abstract, unintentional grey pattern. The expanse was broken by a single, massive abstract canvas in shades of rust and gold.
The floors were polished stone, cool and seamless. The furniture was sparse, but intentional.
Low-slung sofas in charcoal wool, a monolithic coffee table that appeared to have been carved from a single block of black marble, and a fireplace set into the wall that flickered with clean, smokeless fla.
Steel beams crossed the ceiling, exposed, while a wall of windows looked out onto the glittering city skyline. It was severe and beautiful.
What imdiately caught her attention, though, was not the architecture. It was the three n silently moving through the space.
In the open kitchen, a sleek expanse of matte black cabinetry and steel countertops, Oathran stood at the stove. His mist white hair pulled back and his expression serene. He was plating a dish reverently, his movents slow and silent.
Near the dining table, Arkai was arranging plates and glasses. Each piece of cutlery was placed precisely after being examined for smudges and set down gently. Cecilia could almost see his black wolf ears twitching every ti a fork almost clink against a plate.
And Eastiel, still in his grease-stained overalls, was frantically and silently cleaning up the kitchen behind Oathran. He gathered the tools and put them in one by one inside a machine. He wiped the counter and returned a stray spice jar to its shelf.
All of it done at double speed but twice the attempted silence.
They were trying not to wake her.
Cecilia lay still on the low-slung sofa, a soft wool blanket draped over her, and watched them through half-lidded eyes.
DING!
The System’s chi echoed through her mind.
[Congratulations!]
[Cecilia, you have finished the Prologue Episode of "Regret! Escape the CEO as the Missing Pregnant Wife!"]
She blinked. The notification floated before her eyes.
[Would you like to return to the real world?]
[Or would you like to continue the scenario?]
[Note: You cannot return to the real world before you finish the scenario entirely if you choose to stay. Choose carefully!]
[You may roll the banners inside the scenario!]
[The Love Affinity Level will increase twice as fast in the scenario!]
[New feature: Unlimited access to your Inventory! But every ti you take an item, you must answer a pop quiz about Love Interests correctly!]
[Tips: Return to the real world and prepare your Inventory, Cecilia! You might need it!]
Hmm.
She lay still on the sofa, the wool blanket soft against her skin, the aroma of Oathran’s cooking filling the air, and considered her options.
The Prologue was finished. But the System was warning her to prepare her Inventory.
Interesting.
User Comments
0 comments from readers