Chapter 3

No matter what, staying at the hotel indefinitely wasn't a solution. Regardless, this was Lucas's child, and he had to know.

I stood at the villa's entrance with my suitcase, taking a deep breath before swiping my card to enter.

A strong smell of alcohol hit me, making me cough involuntarily.

Mrs. Wilson poked her head out from the kitchen, still holding a bowl of hangover soup.

She lowered her voice and told me, "The master got drunk today."

I nodded, leaving my suitcase in the entryway.

Three months ago, on that rainy night, he had barged into my room just as drunk.

"I'll go check on him," I told Mrs. Wilson.

I tiptoed upstairs. The study door was slightly ajar.

Lucas was slumped in his leather chair with his eyes closed, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, the top three buttons of his shirt undone.

Given how drunk he was tonight, it clearly wasn't a good time to talk about serious matters.

I stood at the door watching him for a while, but eventually just gently closed it.

Back in the master bedroom, I put down my bag and headed to the bathroom to freshen up.

The bathroom light was still on, and his dirty shirts were piled in the laundry basket.

I sighed, bending down to pick up a shirt to throw in the washing machine.

Suddenly, a jarring red caught my eye.

I froze, my fingers involuntarily tightening.

On the shirt collar, a complete lipstick mark was clearly visible, a bright red lipstick, glaringly obvious.

I stared at that lipstick mark, suddenly recalling the scene from three months ago.

That day, he had come home just as drunk, reeking of alcohol, pinning me against the wall, his hot breath on my ear.

Tears fell uncontrollably, landing on the shirt and spreading into a small wet patch.

I could only throw the shirt into the washing machine with trembling hands and press the start button.

I crouched on the bathroom floor, my heart feeling like it was being cut by a knife.

So in his eyes, I was no different from those women.

As long as he was drunk, anyone would do.

I stood up, leaning against the wall, my legs weak.

The person in the mirror was pale, with swollen red eyes.

Suddenly, the bathroom door was pushed open.

Lucas stood swaying in the doorway, his shirt wrinkled beyond recognition.

He squinted at me, his brows furrowed tightly.

"You did the laundry for me?" His voice was hoarse.

The washing machine's end-of-cycle alert broke the silence.

I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and responded to him.

"Mm."

Then I left the bathroom without looking back at him again.

I went to the garage, sat in the car, trying hard to calm myself.

My hand caressed my belly, and I smiled.

"Mommy will take you away from this cage."

There were 23 days left until the expiration of my contract with Lucas Bennett.