Three Months Pregnant, One Planned Crash

“Rachel, look what I brought you—your favorite strawberry mousse.”

He entered the kitchen, eyes flickering with a trace of suspicion as he watched me chopping.

He moved closer, trying to embrace me as he always had, but the touch I once found comforting now churned my stomach.

I sidestepped, pointing at the knife in my wet hand. “I’ve got water on me. Don’t want to get you wet.”

Daniel froze for a second, then quickly recovered, lips curving into a fond smile.

“I’ll put the cake away then. Be careful with the knife, don’t hurt yourself.”

He placed the cake in the fridge, then returned, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder.

His breath brushed against my neck, carrying a perfume scent that wasn’t mine.

It was Olivia’s favorite fragrance—“Diva Icon.”

My stomach lurched, bile rising, though I forced my voice to remain calm.

“Did you pick up the report from the hospital today? What did the doctor say?” He pressed closer, almost as if testing me.

“I did. Everything’s fine.” I kept my voice even, hiding any cracks.

“Good.” He kissed my cheek softly, his tone dripping with affection.

“Our daughter will grow up healthy and strong.”

I stayed silent, chopping faster, each slice cutting through his false tenderness.

Sensing my coldness, he tightened his hold, his voice probing: “Rachel, what’s wrong? Aren’t you happy?”

“No.” I turned off the faucet, faced him with an emotionless gaze.

“Just tired.”

He studied me closely, suspicion flickering in his eyes, before finally loosening his grip and cupping my face.

“Pregnancy is exhausting. Eat dinner and rest early. Tomorrow I’ll take you shopping for clothes—for you and the baby.”

His performance was flawless. If I hadn’t overheard the truth with my own ears, I might have fallen into his lies again, willingly stepping into his trap.

At dinner, I stared at the table full of dishes, feeling only nausea.

Daniel kept piling food onto my plate, playing the part of a perfect husband.

“Eat more. You’re eating for two now.”

“This fish soup is good for pregnant women. I had Mrs. Zhang make it especially—try some.”

Looking at his concerned face, I almost laughed.

Here was a man plotting to kill me and my child, yet urging me to eat more at the dinner table—such hypocrisy, such cruelty.

I set my chopsticks down, meeting his gaze with clear, unshaken eyes.

“Daniel.” I called his name like I would a stranger’s.

“Hm? What is it? Are you not feeling well?” He froze, then his face shifted to anxious concern, setting down his chopsticks and taking my hand.

“Do you love me?” I pulled my hand free, staring straight into his eyes, searching for the slightest flicker.

He paused, then smiled, reaching for my hand again—though it carried no warmth.

“Silly girl, of course I do. If I don’t love you, who else would I love?”

“Then…” I withdrew my hand once more, my gaze colder still.

“Do you love our child? Even if she’s a girl?”

Daniel’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, a flash of unease in his eyes. He hadn’t expected me to ask that.