Page 65 of Sexted By a Stranger
I simply went back to the bedroom. Once, this place had been filled with warmth; now it only made me feel suffocated. I randomly packed a few things, then calmly instructed Ella, the maid who stood behind me with worry written across her face, "Please tell Luca that I've had a surge of design inspiration lately and need quiet and focus. I'll be staying at the studio temporarily to work. Tell him not to come disturb me."
She seemed to want to say something but ultimately just respectfully responded with a "Yes" and withdrew.
The moment the door closed, the strength I'd been forcing myself to maintain seemed to drain away. I slid down against the door panel and sat on the floor.
Lost.
Yes, I felt utterly uncertain about the future.
The little life quietly existing in my womb no longer brought sweetness, but instead a heavy sense of responsibility.
In the days that followed, I buried myself in design drafts and gemstone catalogs.
Luca came by several times, hoping I would return to the bedroom to rest.
I only refused to share a bed with him under the pretense of "inspiration really has struck—you understand how it is with designers." Otherwise, the pregnancy would definitely be impossible to hide.
It was just that every time I checked his wounds, I couldn't help but soften a little. I decided that once he was completely healed, I would leave this place.
Outside the studio's massive floor-to-ceiling windows, the sky was lead-gray, heavy clouds pressing low, the air oppressively still without a breath of wind. I gripped my phone, the screen frozen on the dialing interface.
"Call failed. Please try again later."
This was already the seventh attempt this morning.
A week ago at dawn, Leon had hugged me at the estate gates. Behind him was his neatly packed art supply case, like a little bird about to spread its wings, both excited and nervous. Mom stood beside him, carrying a small suitcase filled with Leon's change of clothes and medication.
"Sheila, don't worry. Professor Smith says intensive training works best. Wait till I bring back another trophy to show you."
"Sheila, take care of yourself." Mom squeezed my hand, her eyes filled with concern.
Luca had arranged a driver to take them, even sending along two additional people to accompany them.
I watched the car drive out of the estate, disappearing at the end of the tree-lined avenue, my heart filled with reluctance and some worry.
From that afternoon on, my world felt like a piece had been cut away.
Text messages I sent vanished without a trace. Calling Mom's phone always yielded the same cold female voice, "The user you are trying to reach is temporarily unavailable. Please try again later."
Attempting to contact the two accompanying "security personnel" only resulted in them saying everything was fine, that training was in progress.
Panic crept up my heart like tiny vines.
What had happened to them? Could Leon's body handle high-intensity training? Would Mom be too tired? Was the enclosed place safe? Was the environment good? Professor Smith… was he really just demanding, or was he…?
And lately, even Luca was often away from the estate.
Terrible thoughts kept surfacing uncontrollably. Could this be the work of Luca's so-called opponents? Using the name of intensive training to control them in a place more convenient for surveillance, to use against Luca?
I paced restlessly around the studio.
To support me, Luca had created a perfect creative space here—soundproof, fully equipped, even with a comfortable rest area and private bathroom.
But at this moment, it felt like a cold, ornate island.
I walked to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass, futilely gazing toward the direction of the estate gates, as if this could somehow make me see the car carrying Mom and Leon return.
A familiar churning in my stomach—morning sickness struck at the worst possible moment.
