CHAPTER NINETEEN

 Penelope's POV

Suddenly, his gaze softened, and he spoke,

"I turned on the water heat for you. Go and have your bath."

Julien's voice was smooth yet firm, a tone that left no room for questioning. I barely had time to shove the book beneath the bed before looking up at him, forcing a smile as if I hadn't just been sneaking around.

His gaze shifted, landing on the box by the bedside table. 

I stiffened. 

His brows lifted slightly, and then he nodded as if remembering something.

"Right. I found that in the storeroom," he said, adjusting his watch. "I didn't think you'd want to throw that out, so I assumed you stuffed it there by mistake and brought it back. You do need it, right?"

My stomach twisted.

So, Madison threw the box out? I thought, masking my concern with a nod. Perhaps the diary held more secrets than what I had just read.

Julien, satisfied with my response, picked up a sleek black watch from the bedside table and slipped it onto his wrist.

"I called Miss Tessa," he said, fastening the strap, his back turned to me. "Asked her to come over to go over the LauRiot launching with you. You're not really well, so she'll handle the bulk of it."

I shook my head lightly, trying not to seem too eager to refuse the help. "You shouldn't have bothered. I could have managed."

Julien shot me a look—one that made it clear he wasn't about to argue. Strands of hair effortlessly fell over his eyes, making him look flawaless. His version of care was control, wrapped neatly in concern.

When he was done dressing in a black button-down shirt and beige trousers, he turned sharply, stepping toward me. He placed a firm hand on my jaw, tilting my face up to meet his. His lips brushed against mine, a brief but possessive kiss.

I stiffened on the bed.

"Don't miss me too much," he murmured against my mouth before stepping away.

I watched him grab his car keys and stride out of the bedroom with the same confident air he always carried. A few seconds later, the front door shut, and then—after the hum of an engine starting—his car pulled out of the estate's compound.

The moment the sound faded, I exhaled sharply, heart pounding. I turned back to the bed, dropped onto my knees, and quickly reached beneath it. My fingers brushed against the worn leather cover of the diary.

Dragging it out, I flipped it open with shaking hands. The sixth page caught her eye instantly.

"My husband found out I am—"

My breath hitched. But that was it. The page had been ripped.

Panic flooded through my veins as I frantically flipped forward. The next pages were gone, torn out with ruthless precision. Someone—whether it was Madison or someone else—had deliberately erased what had been written.

I kept turning, my fingers trembling against the fragile paper until I reached one of the last remaining pages.

"I'm pregnant."

My blood ran cold.

The words stared back at me, bold and in Madison's delicate, looping handwriting.

Pregnant.

Madison had been pregnant.

Her chest tightened, mind racing. Had that been what led to her death?

My fingers clenched around the diary as I tried to piece the timeline together. If Madison had been pregnant, why hadn't she mentioned it? Had she hidden it? And if she had, had Julien been the one to discover it—or had someone else?

A sick feeling churned in my gut.

Had Madison's baby—Julien's baby—been the reason she was killed?

And, what if Julien had found out I wasn't Madison? Oh, goodness, this is not good. At all.