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7

My steps are hurried as I enter the company, heading directly to the elevator with a sweaty forehead and uncontrollable nerves. The loose dress, reaching just below my knees, completely white, makes me sweat a little, but I'm saved because it's sleeveless.

Spring is my favorite season of the year, and in London, it's perfect with its mild weather. It's neither cold nor hot.

Lately, I feel tired even with minimal effort, but being pregnant has to be a reason for it.

My low-heeled boots resonate on the clean floor of his company as the elevator takes me to the floor where his office is. His secretary notices me and stands up immediately, walking towards me.

"Mrs. Müller, good to see you again," she smiles.

Despite my fury, I relax my face and smile at her.

"Teresa, dear, I've told you to call me by my name," I give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She timidly laughs, causing my anger to dissipate a little more. "How have you been? Is the idiot you have as a boss treating you well?"

I don't understand why the hell they still associate me with him. Our divorce was announced barely a year after we got married in December. Yes, it's still a topic of conversation out there, but it's been enough time to accept that I'm no longer Mrs. Müller.

I'm no longer his wife.

"Oh, your husband is a great boss when he's not in a bad mood," she laughs, amused by her comment.

"When is he not in a bad mood? Oh, dear, I feel so sorry for you. It means you put up with a lot, because he's never in a good mood," I nod, pressing my lips together while still smiling. Teresa lets out a final laugh before she approaches her desk upon receiving a call. "Where is he? In his office?"

She shakes her head, answering the call. She introduces herself and turns her attention back to me, covering the receiver.

"He's in a meeting with some partners. I think they're planning to inaugurate another company outside the continent," I widen my eyes.

I had once asked him why he didn't have more companies on another continent. He was well-known in Europe. He has several companies with his name held high in many European countries, but he had never made up his mind to leave the continent.

What could have motivated him?

I let Teresa know that I'll wait for him and take a seat in her chair, letting out a sigh. I want to take off my bra; my breasts are hurting, and I think they've gotten bigger, just like my belly. I have an appointment with the obstetrician this week; I want to make sure everything is fine with the baby. Maybe I can find out the baby's gender already.

I feel something vibrating in my purse, and I take out my phone with a furrowed brow. I relax my forehead; it's a message from Axel.

"What time is the appointment? I haven't finished here yet, dummy."

I make a face. Damn it, I don't want to go alone to the doctor. I swallow saliva, typing carefully and biting my lip. I write back that the appointment is at three in the afternoon; it's only eleven now, maybe I can leave early from wherever I am.

He has been busy moving paintings here and there; he enjoys painting and I think he takes them somewhere to sell his artwork. But he has never taken me with him, so I don't know where it is and where he is right now.

I run my hand over my belly while I see the "typing" message in his chat, licking my lips and touching my belly.

I'll try to make it, I won't leave you alone.

I feel like I'm burdening him with responsibilities he shouldn't have, even though he seems happy accompanying me to appointments and helping me choose a name. I can't help but feel like I'm forcing him into something he shouldn't be involved in.

He shouldn't be doing all this; it should be Arthur.

"Mrs. Müller," I raise my gaze, Teresa stares at me intently. Her eyes go to my hand resting on my belly, and I swallow saliva as I stand up. "You can wait for Mr. Müller in his office."

She acts like she didn't see anything, and deep down, I'm grateful for that. I just hope it wasn't too noticeable. I sigh, clutching my phone tightly in my hand and walking to his office. As I enter, the smell of his perfume greets me, and I inhale, feeling my muscles relax and my thoughts scatter.

What does he want?

I walk towards his desk, leaving my purse on one of the two chairs in front of it. I place my phone on the table, circling it until I reach his chair. I sit down, leaning back, and bite my lower lip, looking at the photo on his desk.

I purse my lips. Is that a picture of me?

"I see you're making yourself comfortable," I raise my gaze.

I'm still confused about what I recently discovered, but his smile and the sparkle in his eyes, damn it. The last time I saw him, he looked handsome. Right now, he looks incredibly handsome, and that beard suits him well.

"Why do you have a picture of me here?"

I move the picture, and he approaches with his hands in his pockets, standing in front of me despite the distance imposed by the desk. Having him in front of me brings back everything that once happened between us, with the same intensity as if I were kissing him right now.

His lips part as he closes his eyes and takes a long breath. I lick my lips, observing every detail of his face. The long lashes match his groomed and thick eyebrows, his full and hydrated lips tempting me to kiss them. The strands of his hair covering his ears, did he let his hair grow?

Is there anything that doesn't suit him?

"Ton odeur m'a manqué, mon amour," he says as soon as he opens his eyes.

His dilated pupils leave me breathless for a few seconds, and there are noticeable dark circles beneath his eyes. Just like the ones he started having after I left his house. I shake my head, putting the picture back in its place.

I exhale, standing up and circling him to create some distance.

"It doesn't matter why you have it; I didn't come here for that," I growl.

I had decided to leave my hair down, forgetting that it's longer than I think, so I have to move it out of my view from time to time. He turns around, takes his hands out of his pockets, and starts taking off his jacket, leaving only his white shirt accompanied by a navy blue tie. I swallow hard; he just started rolling up his sleeves and loosening his tie.

Curse, I must stop getting distracted.

"You look beautiful," he blurts out.

I look away from his face, focusing on another part of the office.

"You look...," I glance at him, smiling to see that I'm speechless. "Good."

He chuckles, finishes folding the shirt, and walks toward me. I don't step back, not wanting to let him see that he makes me nervous, even though the trembling in my legs says otherwise. He bends down slightly, bringing his face close to mine.

"Just good, sweetheart?" I clench my jaw. "You know what I'm thinking?" I shake my head, and he moves his face even closer, whispering the next words since we're so close. "I'm thinking the same thing I thought when I saw you in that dress at dinner. About taking it off and having you completely naked in my bed." I swallow hard.

My brain fails to make my body or mouth move, and I end up taking steps back, distancing myself. I look away from his face while feeling the heat rising in my body.

His laughter echoes in the space between us. I clench my fists.

"You lied to me," he stops laughing.

He furrows his eyebrows. "About what?"

"You said they would never find me, and they did days after your stupid dinner. Was that your way of getting back at me for making you sign?!" I hit his cheek, feeling my eyes welling up. "You know the fear I have of them, and you used it against me. Arthur, you're a..."

I stop myself due to the sob that escapes me. I delicately cover my mouth as I wipe away the tears.

Lucia looks surprised, maybe because it's the first time I hit his cheek. Or perhaps it's because of my words.

"You have to stop thinking that way about me. I told you I would never hurt you."

"Well, I don't believe a damn word! And you know why? Because you already did it," I growl.

He approaches me, trying to take my face in his hands, which I slap away from my treacherous body. He bites his lips, frustrated that he can't touch me. He exhales sharply, running his fingers through his hair. I huff as I head toward my purse. I grab it along with my phone.

As I walk towards the exit, his hand intercepts me, holding my wrist.

"You're not leaving after saying that and slapping me. Who do you think you are?" I slap his cheek again.

He clenches his jaw, biting his lip. I tense my body, furious at his ridiculous alpha male attitude.

"Don't you ever touch me again, you liar," I point out.

I grab the handle again, but this time his growl stops me as he presses me subtly against the door. My phone and purse fall to the ground due to his sudden proximity. I open my lips, stunned. I feel his fingers tangling in the ends of my hair while my hands witness the muscles tensing beneath his fine shirt.

His scent becomes stronger and distracts me.

His erratic breathing, having me so close, makes me raise my head to look at him, only to meet his eyes gleaming with desire.

"I promise I didn't do anything, Michelle," he whispers, lowering himself to be at eye level with me.

A tear rolls down my left cheek, the same tear that ends up on his fingers when he extends them to catch it. The touch of his skin against mine makes me hesitate.

"I don't believe you," I confess weakly.

"Why not, sweetheart?" he asks in a low voice, radiating tenderness.

"Because I don't trust you."

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