A Long-Planned Love

"Keep the baby."

Charlie's voice cut cleanly through the silence.

I froze, lifting my head in disbelief.

His expression did not change.

"I need a child to appease my parents."

"Oh," The sound slipped from me before I could stop it. I lowered my eyes quickly, hiding the flicker of disappointment and confusion.

So that was all it was.

He continued, calm and detached. "If it's a boy, we're even."

A boy.

The Newman family empire was vast. Of course, they needed an heir. But what if it was not a boy?

I asked carefully, almost timidly, "And if it's a girl?"

He paused, then answered in a voice cold enough to frost glass.

"Then we keep trying until there's a son."

I met Charlie through an arranged marriage.

He needed a wife to satisfy his elders.

I needed to save the crumbling Sullivan family business.

It was a clean deal. A one-year marriage contract. Purely transactional.

At least, that was what I thought.

Until Charlie made it clear he had no intention of living in a sexless marriage.

I took a long look at him–tall, over six feet, restrained and aloof, devastatingly handsome, with a body that put runway models to shame.

It did not seem entirely unacceptable.

Aside from being quiet and hard to read, Charlie was practically the perfect husband.

Handsome. Wealthy. Generous. Considerate.

Also, if I were being honest, exceptionally skilled in bed.

So it was inevitable.

I fell for him.

I told myself it was nothing. Even a cold, unfeeling object–a massager, a black card with unlimited spending–would grow on you if you used it long enough, right?

That was what I told myself out loud.

However, deep down, I knew I was sinking.

How about Charlie?

He remained a distant observer.

Watching me spiral deeper into feelings he never shared.

Even my pregnancy–he could dissect it in seconds, weigh the pros and cons, and arrive at the most rational conclusion.

To him, the child and I were merely useful assets.

Interchangeable.

Apparently, he was not always this way.

His parents once told me that before studying abroad, Charlie was like any brilliant heir–confident, articulate, effortlessly charming. He thrived socially, academically, and in every arena.

Then he returned from overseas.

A different person.

Silent. Perpetually cold-faced. Withdrawn.

His parents panicked and dragged him to a psychologist overnight.

The diagnosis?

Nothing wrong.

I felt sorry for them for a full three seconds.

Imagine raising a bright, sunny heir only to have him come back transformed into a human iceberg. Anyone would lose their mind.

By then, I already started liking him.

So I did what any curious wife would do–I asked around. Leaned on a few less-than-reliable friends to dig up some dirt.

I got it.

From one of Charlie's loose-lipped buddies, I learned the truth.

During his time abroad, he fell for a girl.

Summoned up the courage to confess, and was thoroughly rejected.

His heart shattered.

After that, he shut down emotionally, buried himself in his studies, earned his master’s and doctorate, and stayed single.

He even picked up cooking–his hands blistered from burns. Learned how to sew. Learned massage therapy.

A wealthy young master who could mend clothes and knead sore muscles.

I could not even force a laugh.

"How does Charlie know how to do everything?" I muttered.

Turns out he learned it all for someone else before me.

A quiet, restrained, older-man type who takes care of everything.

What chance did I have against the woman he could never have? His unattainable first love.

On impulse, I asked, "Where did he study?"

When I heard the answer, I nearly choked.

"Wait–what?! We went to the same university?!"

He majored in finance.

I studied art.

Curiosity got the better of me. I dragged my best friend Rachel Turner into a full post-mortem of our university days.

In theory, someone like him–a campus star–should have left an impression. But I could not remember him at all.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Olivia, do I really have to spell it out?"

"Spell what out?"

"You were completely obsessed with BL novels back then. Day and night. Shipping fictional couples like it was a full-time job. You opened your eyes and immediately started fantasizing. There was no room left in your brain for actual men."

"Right."

I forgot that phase.

After searching and finding nothing, I had to give up.

I sighed. 'If I'd known I'd fall for Charlie one day, I would've made my move back in school.'

Regret does not even begin to cover it.