carrying the billionaire secrets

Chapter 8- The Guest Suite

The guest suite becomes my entire world in the first week. Soft gray walls. Wide windows. A bed that feels too large for one person. A bathroom with marble floors and a deep tub I am almost afraid to use. Everything is beautiful. Everything feels temporary.

I wake each morning before the alarm. The nausea comes in waves now. I keep crackers in the nightstand drawer and eat them slowly in the dark until my stomach settles. Then I shower, dress in one of the new loose blouses the assistant chose, and walk downstairs for breakfast at seven.

Theo is always there first. He reads on his tablet. He drinks black coffee. He speaks only when necessary. Some mornings he does not speak at all. I have learned not to fill the silence. Silence is safer.

After he leaves for the office the house belongs to me and the quiet. The housekeeper moves through the rooms like a shadow. She asks if I need anything and accepts my polite answers without pressing. I spend the mornings in the garden when the weather is mild. The paths are clean. The flowers are perfect. I sit on a stone bench and press my hands to the small curve of my stomach that is no longer completely flat.

The baby is the size of a peach now. I looked it up on my phone while sitting in the garden yesterday. A peach with tiny hands and feet. A peach that belongs to a man who does not know it exists.

In the afternoons I return to the guest suite and try to read. The shelves hold books I did not choose. Thick volumes on business and history. A few novels with cracked spines that look untouched. I open one and close it again. My mind will not stay on the page.

Sometimes I stand at the window and watch the driveway. Cars come and go. Deliveries. The driver. Once Theo returns early and walks from the car to the front door without looking up. His shoulders are straight. His steps are measured. Even from this distance he looks like a man who never loses control.

I wonder what he would do if he knew.

The thought sits heavy in my chest.

That evening the dinner table feels longer than usual. Theo sets his tablet aside when I sit. It is the first time he has done that.

“You have been quiet,” he says.

“I am fine.”

He studies me for a moment. “If the room is not comfortable, say so. There are other suites.”

“The room is fine.”

“Then something else is wrong.”

I keep my eyes on my plate. “Nothing is wrong.”

He does not push. We eat in silence. When the meal ends he stands and pauses beside my chair.

“There is a company event on Thursday. Black tie. You will attend. My assistant will send the details tomorrow.”

“All right.”

He nods and leaves the room. I listen to his footsteps fade down the hallway toward the study. The door closes. The lock clicks.

I stay at the table a little longer. The housekeeper clears the plates without speaking. When she is gone I walk upstairs slowly.

In the guest suite I change into soft clothes and sit on the edge of the bed. The new dresses hang in the closet. One of them is formal enough for Thursday. Deep green. Long sleeves. Empire waist that will hide what needs to be hidden for a little while longer.

I lie back and rest both hands on my stomach. The baby does not move yet. It is still too early. But I talk to it anyway in a whisper the empty room cannot hear.

“We are safe for now,” I tell it. “Just a little longer.”

The words feel thin.

Outside the window the garden lights glow against the dark. Beyond the walls the city keeps moving. Inside this quiet house the secret keeps growing.

Thursday will come. I will put on the green dress. I will stand beside Theo in a room full of people who believe we are married for ordinary reasons. I will smile when he introduces me. I will answer questions with the careful facts I have memorized.

And the entire time the truth will sit under my ribs like a second heartbeat.

I close my eyes and listen to the silence of the guest suite.

It is beautiful.

It is lonely.

And it is starting to feel like a place I might not be able to leave cleanly when the twelve months end.

Because secrets have a way of changing the shape of everything around them.

Even perfect guest suites.

Even carefully written rules.

Even the space between two people who share a house and nothing else.

Not yet.

But soon.