Chapter 187: Beautiful

*Runze’s POV*

The entire estate feels strangely suspended today.

After breakfast, I wander out into the courtyard with no real destination in mind, my slippers scraping softly against the stone path.

The white roses Grandmother treasures are beginning to bloom again, their pale petals bright beneath the afternoon light. I pause beside a bush, brushing my fingers against a petal before walking on.

I tell myself I am only walking because the doctor recommended light exercise.

It has nothing to do with waiting for anyone.

...It really doesn’t.

By one o’clock, I head back inside. I dodge Mrs. Wen’s gentle attempts to send me upstairs to rest, accept a glass of warm soy milk, and retreat to the sitting room sofa instead.

The television plays a historical drama in the background.

I stare blankly at two men in elaborate robes arguing over an imperial decree, having no idea what they are talking about. My eyes keep drifting toward the tall windows facing the driveway.

Every time a distant engine rumbles, I glance over.

Nothing. Just the empty gravel drive.

The show plays on in the background, and I go back to pretending I am watching it.

***

Around four o’clock...

The familiar, unmistakable sound of tires crunching over the gravel finally reaches the house.

I straighten my back almost immediately, my posture going rigid against the soft cushions.

"They’re back?" I mutter under my breath.

Without thinking, I set the black remote aside and push myself up off the sofa.

Outside the wide window, a long black sedan rolls slowly toward the front entrance, its engine idling down. A wave of relief washes over my chest before I can even see who is sitting inside.

They are home.

The driver gets out first, stepping around the hood to open the rear door.

Then the passenger door opens.

Only one person steps out onto the stone driveway.

Grandmother.

The small smile that had unconsciously found its way onto my face pauses, freezing for a fraction of a second before fading away completely.

"...Oh."

By the time she walks through the front doors, I have already smoothed my expression back into something calm and neutral.

She notices anyway. Grandmother always notices everything.

"Welcome back, Grandmother."

She pulls off her black leather gloves one finger at a time, her movements slow and heavy as she gives me a long look. The faint ghost of a smile touches the very corners of her mouth.

"Were you expecting someone else, Runze?"

"...No," I say, my voice dropping.

"Hm."

She does not expose the obvious lie. Instead, she hands her gloves and handbag to one of the waiting maids, her hands looking a little frail as she lets them go.

"Bael had somewhere else to go first," she says, her voice quiet.

I blink, looking past her toward the empty doorway. "...Somewhere?"

"He would not tell me." There is a faint, weary trace of dry amusement in her eyes as she turns back to me. "I asked."

"And?"

"He just smiled."

"..."

Somehow, that short answer tells me everything. It is completely like him.

Grandmother sighs, a long, quiet breath that seems to drain whatever posture she has left. The deep tiredness from the funeral finally shows across her face, making her look older, her shoulders dipping slightly under the weight of the day.

"I am going to my room to rest," she says, pausing beside my shoulder. She reaches out, her cool hand gently pressing against my arm. "Do not wait up too anxiously."

Before I can answer, she turns and walks down the hallway toward her private wing, her footsteps slow and unhurried. I stand near the doorway, watching her go until her figure disappears around the corner.

***

Knowing Bael is still out there somewhere makes the entire house feel incomplete.

I curl back up on the sofa, hugging a decorative pillow tightly against my stomach.

The baby is quiet today, and as the afternoon light slowly turns to warm gold outside the windows, my own eyelids grow heavy.

The TV voices blur into a low hum, and without realizing it, I drift off to sleep.

***

Warm.

The very first thing I notice as my mind slowly wakes up is warmth.

It is not the heat of blankets, nor the familiar softness of sofa pillows. It is something much firmer. Something solid.

Moving.

I frown slightly, my brows pulling together in my sleep.

...Moving?

My eyelashes flutter open, my sight blurry and thick with rest.

Everything around me is dim. Soft, warm lights stretch across the high ceiling of the second-floor hallway above my head. It takes several long seconds for my sleepy brain to finally catch up to what is happening.

Someone is carrying me.

One strong arm is hooked securely beneath my knees. The other is supporting my upper back, holding me firmly against a warm frame.

I do not even have to look up to know who it is.

"...Bael."

"Hm." His voice vibrates softly straight through his chest, the sound low and steady against my cheek.

I blink another few times, rubbing my face against the cool fabric of his shirt before lifting my head from where it had been resting against his shoulder.

"...Did you just get back?"

"I did," he answers, his long strides never slowing down for a second.

"You came back..."

The corners of his lips curl upward into a faint smirk. "Why?" His clear grey eyes lower, meeting mine in the dim hallway light. "Did you miss me?"

"...No." My answer comes out far too quickly, my voice jumping a bit. I clear my throat and add, "...I was just asking."

"Hm." He clearly does not believe a single word out of my mouth. "I made it back in time for dinner, like I said."

"..."

"Are you so disappointed?"

I reach up with one hand and weakly tap his shoulder with my fist.

"...You’re annoying."

His quiet chuckle rumbles deep through his chest, warm and low.

"I’ve been called much worse."

By then, his long steps have already brought us to the door of our bedroom. He reaches out with one hand and nudges the door open, pushing it wide.

Only then do I notice the three young maids following a few steps behind us.

Each of them is carrying several large, glossy shopping bags in both arms. They quickly bow their heads as we enter the room.

"Young Master."

"Master."

They move past us, setting the bags down neatly along the floor of the sitting area right beside the wide windows.

I stare at the growing pile of bags in total confusion. "...What’s all that?"

Bael walks over to the edge of the bed and smoothly lowers me down onto the mattress before straightening his spine. "Yours."

"...Mine?"

The maids finish unloading the bags, setting them down one by one.

Soft sweaters, loose shirts, flexible trousers, a big pregnancy pillow, blankets, lotions—even several pairs of ridiculously fluffy wool socks.

I stare at the mountain of bags, then look up at his unbothered face.

"...You bought all this?"

"Yes."

"You went shopping?"

"Hm."

"...All afternoon?"

He does not answer me with words. He simply stands there, his hands resting in his pockets, which is answer enough on its own.

The last maid quietly places one final bag beside the wardrobe before bowing and excusing herself. The bedroom door shuts quietly behind them, and total silence returns to the room.

Bael turns and walks toward the nearest shopping bag. After rummaging through the crisp paper inside for a moment, he pulls out a neatly folded garment.

It is cream-colored. Soft.

It looks... suspiciously like a dress.

He walks right back over to the side of the bed where I am sitting and holds it out to me.

"Try it."

I blink, looking down at the fabric, then up at his face. "...Now?"

"Yes."

"...Right here?"

"Yes."

I glance around the bedroom, then look back at him, my brows pulling together.

"...You’re not going to turn around?"

"No."

Heat immediately rushes straight into my face, making my cheeks feel like they are burning.

Bael says nothing. He simply turns and sits down on the edge of the bed beside me, crossing one ankle over his opposite knee. His hands fold loosely over his lap, and then... he just waits.

Watching me.

"..."

I let out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh, shaking my head. "You’re really just going to sit there and stare?"

"Yes."

"...Fine."

I know him well enough by now to know that if I sit here waiting for him to politely turn his head, we will still be sitting in this exact spot tomorrow morning.

I reach up, grab the hem of my cotton shirt, and carefully pull it over my head, tossing it onto the mattress.

His gaze does not waver for a single second. He does not look away.

By the time I push my trousers down my legs and step completely out of them, my ears are burning so hot they feel like they might melt.

"...Stop looking at me like that," I say, my voice sounding a bit tight.

"I am looking at you normally."

"That’s exactly the problem."

The tiny corner of his mouth twitches upward for a split second.

I quickly snatch the cream-colored nightdress off the bed and pull it over my head before he can find anything else teasing to say.

The fabric glides down over my skin easily. It is cool, light, and unbelievably soft, falling loosely just above my knees.

...It is... actually extraordinarily comfortable.

I smooth the soft wrinkles out of the front with both hands, adjusting the neckline.

"...Well?" I ask, looking down at the hem, then back up at him. "How is it?"

For the very first time since I started changing... Bael’s entire expression changes.

The faint, teasing look he had been wearing completely disappears.

His playful smirk fades away into nothing. His dark grey eyes move slowly across my frame, traveling down from my face, over the loose fabric covering my chest and waist, all the way down to my bare knees and thighs.

He does it once, slowly and deliberately.

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows hard, his jaw tightening slightly.

Something in his gaze becomes so suddenly intense, so quiet and dark, that my breath catches in my throat.

I instinctively take one small step backward.

"W-What is it?" I stammer out, my fingers curling into the thin fabric at my sides.

He stands up from the mattress.

Slowly.

The distance between the two of us completely disappears in only two long steps. He closes the space until he is standing right in front of me, so close that I have to tilt my head all the way back just to meet his eyes.

One of his hands reaches out, his long fingers lightly brushing against the soft gathered fabric resting at my waist.

Then, quietly... his voice dropping into a low, rough murmur...

"...You look beautiful."