While She Faked a Pregnancy to Ruin Me, a Stray Cat Told Me Everything

"Freya, just the two of us for hotpot is no fun. Bring your husband along, and I'll call Dean Farley too. Four people is much livelier."

On the other end of the line, Freya clearly hesitated. "Oh, come on, why drag the guys into a girls' get-together? There's so much we can't gossip about with them around. Besides, my husband's away on business, he can't make it, so don't bring your fiancé either..."

I rolled my eyes.

Not long ago, the moment Freya found out my fiancé was a wealthy, good-looking heir, she'd practically glued herself to my side every day, even quietly adding him on social media.

Now she was doing the opposite. My guess was she didn't want too many people around, in case it got in the way of her plan.

"Fine, just the two of us, then." I agreed with a smile.

"Perfect! I'll come find you right now!" Freya's voice was bright with excitement.

I glanced out the window. "Don't. It's raining out there. I'll drive over and pick you up."

Freya didn't think twice and agreed happily.

I hung up, crouched down, and stroked the stray cat's head.

Softly, I said, "Thank you."

Then I stood, changed my clothes, and headed out.

Half an hour later, my car pulled up outside Freya's building.

She came hurrying over under an umbrella in a loose hoodie, her belly hidden completely, and slid into the passenger seat.

Her makeup was flawless, but the shadows under her eyes were too dark to cover.

No surprise there. Early pregnancy made you drowsy and worn out to begin with, and with a scheme weighing on her conscience, there was no way she'd been sleeping well.

"Let's get going, I'm starving." Freya buckled her seatbelt. "Just thinking about the tripe and duck intestines at your place makes my mouth water."

I didn't answer, just started the car.

Twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of a newly opened hotpot restaurant.

Freya froze. "Cora, this isn't your family's place."

I cut the engine, smiling. "It's the weekend. Our restaurant's swamped today. I was worried slow service would spoil your appetite. This place just opened, and a friend told me it's really authentic."

Freya's expression stiffened for a split second. "But I'm used to the taste of your family's hotpot..."

I pulled open the passenger door and looked at her with a smile. "My treat tonight. I went out of my way to take you somewhere nicer. What, you're being picky now?"

She had no comeback, so she had no choice but to get out.

I thought to myself: not eating at my family's hotpot place this time. Let's see how you manage to frame anyone now.

Still, I kept my guard up. Before going in, I detoured to the back kitchen first.

The owner was a heavyset man in his forties, busy slicing beef. Seeing me peek in, he gave a good-natured laugh. "Something I can help you with, miss?"

"Sir, is your hotpot safe for a pregnant woman?"

The owner thumped his chest in assurance. "Don't you worry! All our ingredients are bought fresh the same day, guaranteed. We keep a sample of every table's broth, the cameras run twenty-four hours a day. Pregnant women, kids, the elderly, anyone can eat here. If anything goes wrong, it's on me!"

That put me a little more at ease. When I got back to the table, Freya was looking at the menu.

Seeing me return, she set down her phone, her gaze suddenly landing on the drink in front of me. "Cora, what's in your cup? It looks really good."

Guessing she was setting a trap for me, I immediately picked up the cup and took a sip. "Lemon passionfruit."

Then I called the server over and ordered her an identical one.

Freya's expression caught for a beat, then she smiled. "No need to stand on ceremony with me. Let's just swap and share."

"I've got a cold. Don't want to give it to you."

Freya drank a few sips of the new drink. Everything was normal.

I quietly checked my phone. Seven fifty.

Ten minutes left until the miscarriage time the stray cat had warned about.

The broth arrived, red oil rolling, the spicy aroma hitting my nose.

Freya picked up a slice of tripe and swished it in the pot, quick and practiced, not a trace of the way a pregnant woman is supposed to watch what she eats.