[BL] Oops! I Seduced My Sister's Fiance (And Now I'm Pregnant)-Chapter 40: Settling In

It has been a week since the wedding.

Not that anything feels settled enough to deserve that word, but time has passed, and the chaos has quieted into something more manageable. The estate has gone back to being what it always was... controlled, silent, and almost too clean.

And in that silence, I finally have time.

Afternoons, specifically. They have become mine in a way I did not expect.

At first, I did not plan anything. I just wandered into the study one day because there was nothing else to do, picked up a pencil because it was there, and started drawing because sitting still felt worse.

Now, it is a routine.

Lunch ends, Bael disappears into his home office or leaves for the company, and I end up back at the desk with paper spread out and a pencil already in my hand before I even think about it.

The first few sketches were messy, uncertain, my hand hesitating over proportions I should not know but somehow did.

Now they are not.

Lines come out clean and steady, I do not need to measure angles or calculate load distribution the way I should. I just know when something is off. I erase, redraw, adjust proportions until everything settles into place.

It is not guesswork. It is instinct.

Yesterday I designed an entire museum wing. Large windows placed where afternoon light would hit at the perfect angle, exhibition spaces that would shift in mood as the sun moved across the sky. The day before that, a residential complex that maximized green space while maintaining privacy between units.

I stare at today’s sketch, a mixed-use building with retail on the ground floor, offices above, residential at the top. The lines are clean, the proportions balanced, the flow between public and private space deliberate.

I tilt my head, then erase a section near the roofline.

Too heavy.

I redraw it lighter, adjusting the angle just enough to change the whole balance.

Better.

My fingers brush over the graphite without thinking, tracing the shape I just created.

This is the first time since dying and waking up here that I feel like I am doing something that is mine. Not reacting to someone else’s choices, not playing a role, not just surviving.

Making something.

The thought settles slowly. Not dramatic, just there.

What do I actually want to do?

Because surviving cannot be the only answer anymore.

Architecture.

The word feels strange when I think about it, not because it does not fit, but because it fits too well.

If I can do this, if I actually enjoy it, then maybe I could take it further. Finish the degree somehow, find a way to get certified without sitting through years of classes I do not need. Build something real instead of just filling pages no one else will see.

A career.

Something that belongs to me, something that is not tied to this family, and not dependent on this marriage.

My hand stills against the paper.

Bael and Grandmother Wuchen...

The thought of explaining this to either of them is enough to make my grip tighten on the pencil.

What if they say a Wuchen spouse does not need a career or being a Wuchen spouse is the career.

I exhale slowly and set the pencil down.

Not yet.

There is no point creating problems before they exist.

For now, this is enough.

***

Things have changed in other ways too.

Most of my clothes are no longer in my old room.

Mrs. Wen moved them a few days ago, transferring everything into Bael’s wardrobe without making it into a discussion. It was done so quietly I only noticed when I went to get changed and realized half my things were gone.

The sleeping arrangements followed naturally after that.

I sleep in Bael’s room now.

Not that it makes much difference most nights.

He has been busy with something, waking up early and coming back to sleep late. Sometimes after I have already fallen asleep, the few times I have woken in the middle of the night, I have found him there already, breathing even, like he has always been there.

Other nights I do not wake at all.

I have been sleeping more. A lot more.

At first I thought it was just exhaustion from everything finally catching up. Now I am not so sure.

My appetite has changed too.

No more forcing down bland congee and plain rice because they are the only things that do not make me nauseous.

Now I want flavor. Spice. Variety.

Yesterday I made Mrs. Wen prepare three different dishes for lunch because I could not decide what sounded good, and I ended up eating portions of all of them. Kimchi jjigae that made my mouth tingle, japchae with enough sesame oil to coat everything, mandu dipped in so much vinegar Bael raised his eyebrows when he saw.

"The baby wants what it wants," I had said.

His lips twitched. "Apparently the baby has expensive taste."

I did not argue.

***

Today is different.

Not in a dramatic way, but enough that I notice it the moment I open my eyes.

We are going out to the Wuchen Group headquarters.

Our first official appearance after the wedding.

Which means I have to look like I belong there.

No pressure.

Mrs. Wen had woken me earlier than usual, laying out clothes while I blinked at her groggily. Bael probably woke up hours ago and is already prepared to go.

Now, standing in front of the mirror, fully dressed, I check my reflection one more time.

The shirt fits well. Of course it does. Everything fits my body well.

Dark gray, tailored perfectly to my body without drawing attention to the slight curve at my stomach that is becoming harder to hide. My hair is still slightly damp from the shower, falling naturally into place.

I adjust the collar, then stop.

Enough.

I already look fine.

The door opens behind me.

I do not need to turn to know it is him.

Bael’s presence is noticeable even when he is not trying.

I catch his reflection in the mirror instead.

He stops just inside the room.

Not moving, not speaking, he’s just looking at me.

For a second longer than expected.

I turn slightly. "What?"

He takes a few steps closer, slow, his gaze still on me in a way that feels deliberate.

"You clean up well."

"That sounds like I usually do not."

"You usually look like you just rolled out of bed."

"That is because I usually just rolled out of bed."

His lips curve slightly. Not quite a smile, but close.

"Fair."

He stops in front of me, close enough that I can see the faint lines of tiredness around his eyes, the way his sleeves are already rolled up like he has been working for hours.

"Why are you staring at me?" I ask.

"I am not staring, I’m assessing."

"That sounds worse."

"It is not." His gaze flicks over me again, slower this time. "You look good."

The words are simple. Too simple.

Which makes them land harder than expected.

I look away first. "Obviously."

That earns a quiet huff of amusement.

Then he reaches out, one hand coming up to tilt my chin, guiding my face back toward him.

"Confident too," he murmurs.

"Someone has to be."

"Mm."

The sound is thoughtful, almost approving.

Then he leans in.

The kiss is not gentle. Not rough either, just deliberate, like he has already decided he is doing this and there is no reason to hesitate.

His lips press against mine, warm, firm, his hand still holding my chin. I react without thinking, fingers tightening at my sides before I let myself lean into it.

It does not last long.

Just enough to leave warmth behind when he pulls back.

"Let’s go," he says, like nothing just happened.

I blink once, then follow.

***

The driver is already waiting outside.

Of course he is.

The car door opens before we even reach it, the movement smooth and practiced.

I hesitate for half a second, then step forward and slide into the back seat.

The leather is cool against my back, the interior smells faintly of Bael’s cologne, sharp and clean.

Bael follows immediately after, settling beside me with easy confidence. The door closes behind us with a soft, solid sound that cuts off the outside world.

The car starts moving almost instantly.

Through the tinted windows I watch the estate gates open, the sprawling grounds giving way to the tree-lined drive that leads to the main road.

The city starts to appear around us, buildings getting taller, traffic getting heavier.

I lean back against the seat and let myself take one more moment of quiet before everything becomes performance again.

Bael’s hand finds mine on the seat between us.

Not intertwining fingers, not romantic.

Just his palm covering the back of my hand, warm and steady.

I do not pull away.

The car carries us through the city toward Wuchen Group headquarters, toward whatever comes next.