She is pregnant

The cold gel clung to Luna's stomach as she lay silently on the examination bed, her fingers twisting together in nervous anticipation. Dr. Mensah moved the device slowly, eyes scanning the monitor with a practiced calm. Beside her, Mrs. Montenegro stood still as stone, arms crossed, lips drawn in a tight line of authority.

Luna could hear her own heartbeat louder than the machine's beeping.

Then, a soft, almost imperceptible smile curved Dr. Mensah's lips. "It's confirmed," she said quietly. "She's pregnant. Congratulations."

Mrs. Montenegro gave a short nod of approval, then motioned for Luna to rise. "Come," she said. "Let's go share the news."

They stepped into the hallway just outside the exam room where Amalia stood clutching Lucas's arm, both of them waiting, Lucas with that quiet tension he wore so well, Amalia practically trembling with excitement.

"Well?" Amalia asked breathlessly, her eyes flicking between the doctor and her future mother-in-law.

Dr. Mensah smiled. "It's good news. She's pregnant."

A squeal broke from Amalia's lips as she threw her arms around Lucas. "Oh, Lucas! We're going to have a baby!"

He forced a smile, lips moving, arms responding just enough to hold her, but his gaze had already drifted past her shoulder to Luna.

And then… everything stopped.

Their eyes met. Recognition hit hard.

Luna. The girl who had once slapped Mike and walked away with her head held high.

She was the surrogate?

Lucas's heart twisted—shock, confusion, and something dangerously close to betrayal churning inside him. Of all people…

She stood silently, eyes wide, her hands folded over her stomach like a protective shield. Her gaze lowered quickly. Boss? she thought. How is this possible?

This wasn't how she imagined seeing him again. And certainly not like this.

"Lucas?" Amalia said, still clinging to his arm. "Are you okay?"

He blinked, pulling himself back to the moment. "Y-yeah," he managed. "I'm… I'm fine."

"Oh!" Amalia turned to Luna with a grin. "You haven't met properly, have you? Luna, this is my fiancé, Lucas. He's also from Asosura, just like you. Isn't that wild?"

Luna barely managed a polite nod. "Yes. Nice to meet you," she said quickly, her voice barely audible.

Lucas said nothing. But in his mind, the memory of her organic scent—lavender, maybe wild mint—rushed back to him. Something about her had always felt different.

Amalia raised a curious brow, watching their stiff postures. "Wait... have you two met before?"

The silence stretched.

Luna spoke first, saving them both. "No. Never."

Lucas swallowed hard. "Yeah. No, we haven't."

"Well, that's fine," Amalia said, already pulling out her phone. "I can't wait to tell everyone. Let's go celebrate, darling!"

She gestured to the car. As she turned, she began rattling off instructions to Luna. "Make sure you eat on time, drink lots of water, no stress—understood? The driver will take you home. We'll schedule your next check-up soon."

"Yes, ma'am," Luna murmured. As she was ushered toward the car by the driver, Lucas watched her go.

Her eyes… her silence… Something didn't sit right. And no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the truth was lodged in his chest.

He had questions. But for now, he let her walk away.

***

The Montenegro mansion had never looked more radiant. Lights bathed the gardens in a golden glow, soft classical music played in the background, and the long mahogany dining table had been carefully set under the veranda. Crystal glasses shimmered beneath the twilight sky, and plates gleamed with polished silverware.

Amalia's parents, the well-known Lanes, had arrived promptly. Her mother, prim and proper in her ivory pearls. Her father, stoic, was always two steps behind his wife in words and attention.

Mrs. Montenegro sat at the head of the table, radiating power in silence, her eyes cool as they swept over the guests. She had arranged this dinner not just as a celebration, but as a declaration.

The Montenegro legacy was secured.  Or so she believed.

"Congratulations again," Amalia's mother beamed. "A child on the way—how exciting. I'm certain this baby will be beautiful, just like its parents."

Lucas managed a polite smile, but he barely tasted the wine on his tongue. He sat beside Amalia, yet his mind kept drifting… back to a hospital hallway, back to a girl with sorrow in her eyes and the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Luna.

He didn't understand it yet, but something inside him stirred each time he thought of her.

Across the table, Susan sipped her wine slowly, eyes narrowed with suspicion. "So, this is the secret you and mother have kept so well," she said suddenly, her tone casual, too casual. "Was it a natural conception? Or through artificial insemination."

Mrs. Montenegro glanced at Amalia, then responded smoothly. "There is going to be an heir. That's all you need to know."

Amalia placed her hand over Lucas's. "Through natural conception."

"Strange," Susan muttered, reaching for more bread. "After all these years, let's hope it's not a false alarm like the others, you know what I mean."

"That's enough, Susan," King said firmly, shooting her a look. "It's a joyful occasion. Let's not ruin it."

But the silence that followed was strained.

Amalia turned to Lucas with a gentle smile, leaning into him. "Darling, maybe we should make the announcement official this weekend. We could invite the board, the family stakeholders. Let them know the Montenegro heir is on the way."

Lucas hesitated. "So soon?"

"Yes. Why wait?" Amalia's eyes sparkled. "Everything's moving forward. Finally."

Mrs. Montenegro nodded in agreement. "It's time, Lucas. You've done your duty. You've carried the business, and now you're building a legacy. This family needs that."

Lucas forced a nod and lifted his glass.

"To new beginnings," he said, his voice calm even though something inside him felt unmoored.

They clinked glasses. But as laughter filled the table and the first course was served, Lucas looked up toward the night sky—toward a world where one woman waited in silence, carrying a child that was part of him.