Chapter 4

“This weekend, we’re going back to the old house,” Ethan said flatly as he loosened his tie, eyes fixed on his phone screen instead of on Luna.

Luna paused in the doorway of the study, hand unconsciously covering her still-flat belly. “Back to the old house? You mean… to see Mom?”

He hummed noncommittally. “She said she hasn’t seen you in a while.”

The words should have warmed her, yet something in his tone made them sound like an obligation, not a welcome. Luna took a cautious step forward.

“Then it’s… a family dinner?” she probed.

Ethan glanced up at her for the first time, eyes already drifting back to his phone. “Yeah. Just come, don’t overthink it.”

He didn’t mention anyone else. He didn’t ask how she was feeling, whether she was tired, whether her appetite had improved. He didn’t notice that she was holding the doorframe more tightly than usual.

Luna swallowed her disappointment and forced herself to nod. “Okay. I’ll be ready.”

She thought of telling him then—blurting out the words I’m pregnant, we’re going to have a baby, your baby—and imagined his face lighting up, imagined this trip turning into a celebration. But the memory of his cold indifference whenever the topic of children came up dragged her back.

What if he thought she was lying just to keep him? What if he suspected something ugly? What if he brought up… Chloe?

The name knotted in her throat. She said nothing.

The Bennett old house was as imposing as ever, its stone façade soaked in decades of wealth and pride. The iron gates swung open, revealing the manicured lawns and carefully tended rose garden that Martha Bennett doted on.

As the car rolled to a stop, Luna’s fingers tightened around her purse. She pressed her palm lightly over her abdomen again. “We’re going to see Grandma,” she whispered inwardly, as if the tiny, invisible life could hear. “She’ll like you. She has to.”

Ethan stepped out first, not noticing the quiet pep talk. He circled to her side, opened the door out of habit rather than tenderness. Luna accepted the hand he offered to help her out, a fleeting brush of contact that made her heart ache.

The aching intensified when she saw who was standing on the stone path leading from the garden.

Martha Bennett was walking slowly, carefully—her normally brisk steps softened, her hand firmly hooked through the arm of a younger woman beside her.

Chloe.

They came out of the rose garden together, Martha’s other hand hovering protectively near Chloe’s stomach even though the path was perfectly flat.

“Careful, darling, the tiles near the fountain can be slippery,” Martha was saying, her voice full of an unfamiliar, almost syrupy concern. “I’ve told the staff to change the floor tiles to something with more friction, but you know how slow they are. Just hold on to me.”

Chloe wore a light dress that settled smoothly over the slight swell of her belly, the curve noticeable now, undeniable. She lowered her head and smiled demurely. “Mrs. Bennett, I’m fine. You’re fussing too much.”

“Nonsense,” Martha chided gently. “You’re carrying a Bennett. We can’t be too careful.”

The words hit Luna like a slap.

Ethan’s hand stiffened around the car door. “Mom,” he called, his tone neutral.

Martha looked up, her gaze skipping over Ethan first, then landing briefly on Luna as if she were an afterthought. “You’re here.” Her eyes didn’t light up. They warmed only when she turned back to Chloe. “Are you tired? Do you want to sit down now?”

Luna forced herself to step forward. “Mom,” she greeted softly. “It’s been a while.”

Martha’s expression smoothed into polite neutrality. “Luna.” She gave the barest nod, like acknowledging a distant acquaintance. “You’ve… been well?”

“Yes,” Luna said, fingers digging into her palm. “Work has been—”

“That’s good,” Martha cut in, her attention already drifting. “Work keeps you busy.” She squeezed Chloe’s arm. “Come, let’s sit in the sunroom. I had the kitchen make chicken soup and steamed sea bass. Good for you and the baby.”

Chloe glanced once at Luna, the corners of her lips curving up almost imperceptibly. “Mrs. Bennett, you really didn’t have to go through so much trouble.”

“For my grandchild, nothing is trouble,” Martha said firmly.

Grandchild.

The word carved another line into Luna’s heart.

Ethan’s phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen and typed a short reply, pausing only when he realized Luna hadn’t moved. “Let’s go in,” he said quietly.

The sunroom was flooded with soft light, the table already set. As they sat, Martha drew Chloe to the seat beside her, placing her almost in the center like the axis of their small universe. Ethan naturally took the seat across from Chloe.

Luna ended up at the far side, a half-step removed, like a guest too insignificant to be placed near the main event.

“Has the morning sickness gotten better?” Martha asked Chloe, her brows knitted with concern. “Did the vitamins the doctor prescribed agree with you? I asked around and found the best obstetrician in the city. We can switch if you’re uncomfortable with the current one.”

“It’s much better now,” Chloe replied in a gentle tone, one hand resting over her belly. “The doctor you recommended is very professional. He said everything is normal.”

“That’s a relief.” Martha exhaled. “You must eat more. The first trimester is crucial.” She snapped her fingers at the maid. “Bring the chicken soup.”

The maid placed a steaming bowl in front of Chloe. Martha personally ladled more pieces of chicken into it. “This is black-bone chicken stewed with ginseng. Strengthens the body, good for the baby’s development.”

Another bowl was placed in front of Luna. Martha glanced at it, then waved her hand. “Don’t give her too much. Luna’s always had a weak appetite. She can’t absorb it, it’s a waste.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, but it sliced cleanly.

Luna’s fingers tightened around the spoon. “I… I can eat,” she said softly.

Martha didn’t even look at her. “You always say that, but your body never shows it.” She turned back to Chloe. “Here, try the fish. High in protein and low in fat.” She picked up the serving chopsticks and placed a large piece of tender sea bass in Chloe’s bowl. “More for you.”

Chloe hesitated, glancing at Luna as if embarrassed. “Mrs. Bennett, maybe Luna—”

“It’s fine,” Martha interrupted. “Luna doesn’t like fish. She told me before.”

Luna had never said that. She swallowed the words.

Aunties and cousins began to arrive, drifting into the conversation between bites of food.

“So this is the future Bennett heir, huh?” one auntie cooed, eyes glued to Chloe’s stomach. “Martha, you’re really blessed.”

“Finally going to be a grandmother,” another added. “Our Martha’s been worrying for years. Now she can finally relax.”

“Chloe, is it a boy or a girl?”

“The doctor said it’s too early to tell,” Chloe replied, lowering her lashes. “We don’t mind either way.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Martha said, though her tone carried pride. “As long as it’s a Bennett child, it’s our root.”

The table hummed with approval.

Someone’s gaze flicked to Luna. “Luna, you’re still…?” The word hung awkwardly in the air.

Luna opened her mouth, feeling the urge rise—this is my chance, I can tell them, I can say it—

Martha stepped in, her smile thin. “Luna’s been focusing on her career. Not everyone is meant to be a mother. Some women are destined for other paths.” She lifted her tea cup, voice light but sharp. “In our family, children are everything. Whoever can give birth naturally has more say in things. That’s just how it is.”

Her eyes swept across the table, not lingering on Luna, but the meaning was unmistakable.

Luna’s throat burned. The words I’m pregnant pressed against her teeth, desperate to escape.

She imagined all their faces turning to her in disbelief. She imagined Martha’s first reaction being not joy but suspicion—whose child is it? After all these years, why now? Are you trying to use a baby to tie Ethan down when it’s already too late?

Her fingers went cold.

“Luna,” Martha said suddenly, turning to her with a bright, artificial smile. “Go to the kitchen and ask them to bring out the fruit platter. And tell them to slice the mango very thinly. Chloe’s been craving it.”

The dismissal was clear. Luna was being gently, efficiently removed from the conversation.

Luna rose, her chair scraping slightly. “I’ll go,” she murmured.

No one stopped her.

At the kitchen door, she paused. The clatter of plates and the low murmur of the domestic staff comforted her more than the polished cruelty in the dining room.

She leaned against the wall, taking a slow breath. Just a few steps away, laughter rose and fell—her name occasionally emerging like a thorn.

“Honestly, that girl…” a relative’s voice. “Such a pity.”

“Pity?” Martha’s voice was calm, almost detached. “Some things are fated. There’s no use forcing it.”

“How can you say that?” someone whispered, half-amused, half-scandalized.

Martha gave a quiet, dismissive laugh. “A woman should know her place. Some are born to be mothers. Some… simply aren’t. No matter how long you wait, nothing grows in barren soil. She should accept it with grace. Recognize reality.”

The words drove into Luna like nails.

Her hand flew to her lower abdomen, protective and trembling. Barren. Nothing grows.

But there is life here, she thought frantically. There is. I—

Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She pressed her forehead against the cool wall tile, swallowing the cries trying to break free.

In the dining room, someone said in a conspiratorial tone, “Then Chloe is truly your blessing, Martha. The Bennett family finally has a future.”

“Yes,” Martha agreed, her voice filled with genuine satisfaction. “At least now, our name won’t end with Ethan. Some people must learn when to step back. Not holding on to what was never theirs in the first place.”

Not theirs.

Luna bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood.

The baby inside her—her last hope, her final piece of leverage—suddenly felt like a secret she didn’t know how to use. In this house, power wasn’t love, or loyalty, or time spent. Power was the child in your womb.

And in everyone’s eyes, that child belonged to Chloe.

When Luna finally returned to the living room with the fruit platter, her steps felt heavier. She forced her expression into neutrality, willing the redness out of her eyes.

The conversation quieted for a second as she entered, then resumed as if she were an invisible server.

“Put it here,” Martha said without looking at her, pointing to the coffee table near Chloe. “Chloe, try the mango. If you like it, I’ll have them send some home with you.”

Luna set the platter down, her gaze unintentionally locking onto Chloe’s hand as it stroked her rounder belly in a familiar, proprietary motion.

Chloe raised her eyes slowly, meeting Luna’s stare head-on.

The corner of Chloe’s mouth lifted into a faint, ambiguous smile, one that hovered between politeness and provocation, as if she were deliberately showcasing her triumph.

The room buzzed on, oblivious.

Luna’s nails dug into her palm as, for the first time, a fierce question surged through her mind—if the child in her womb was real power in this house, how long could she stay silent?