I was his allergen she was his cure what if this allergen turns lethal? novel Chapter 11

Chapter 3

Fiona stared at the pregnancy test. A single line. A harsh, hollow laugh escaped her.

Well, Seth can relax now. No baby of ours.

And thank god. Because now? She didn’t want it either.

Relief washed over Seth’s face. His tone softened. “Fiona, I just didn’t want you to suffer. Connor and Chloe are enough.”

Such hypocrisy.

Fiona only replied, voice flat, “Thanks for your concern.”

Seth frowned. “Why so distant?”

Distant?

In this house, she was the outsider. How could she not be distant?

Fiona paused, then turned. She pulled out the dissolution papers. “Fine. Not distant. I want to buy a retail property.”

It was the first time she’d ever asked for anything outright. Something felt off. Seth reached for the papers, intending to scan them.

“Is it too much?”

Hearing that, Seth signed without another glance.

Whatever his wife wanted, she got. No questions.

Fiona took the signed papers, a heavy weight lifting from her chest.

Outside the door, Connor and Chloe’s whispers drifted in.

“Mommy’s not really having a baby, right? She’s so dumb. What if she has another dummy like her?”

“Yeah! She just got lucky having us. Wish she wasn’t our mom. So annoying!”

Fiona’s knuckles whitened around the file. They’d get their wish soon.

In one month, when the divorce finalized, she wouldn’t be their mom anymore.

The next morning, Fiona didn’t rise at her usual 6 AM. She left the kids and Seth to the staff.

Chaos erupted.

Connor, picky since infancy, refused every dish the frantic staff prepared. He ate nothing.

Chloe hated the nanny’s braids. Too rushed to fix them, she stomped off to preschool, furious.

“Mrs. Sterling-”

Another flustered maid approached.

I Was His Allergen She Was The Cure. What If This Allergen Turns Lethal?

7.5%

Chapter 3

“Mr. Sterling’s new Armani pinstripe suit? How to accessorize? He’s rejected everything I’ve tried.”

Fiona pressed her lips together. The answer came automatically.

“Pair it with the tie from Closet Three, left cabinet, second shelf.

“And the dark silver cufflinks from Closet Five, right drawer, third tier.”

Minutes later, Seth entered the bedroom. Impeccable in the perfectly coordinated suit, he looked every inch the powerful CEO.

He leaned against the doorframe, displeasure in his eyes. “Why the strike?”

Fiona didn’t look at him. “Not feeling well.”

Seth remembered. Yesterday’s injuries. Caused by him. By their children.

A flicker of guilt, something unreadable, crossed his face. “Rest then,” he conceded.

Fiona’s “strike” plunged the household into disarray.

Even following her recipes, Connor claimed the food tasted wrong. He visibly thinned in days.

The nannies tried her braiding techniques. Chloe either screamed it hurt or the braids unraveled minutes after leaving, reducing her to tears.

Countless little details Seth never noticed or cared about – now surfaced, grating on his nerves.

He rarely snapped at staff, but now his patience frayed. “Can’t you handle the simplest things?”

The staff walked on eggshells. Fiona found it bitterly ironic.

Simple things?

Maybe to Seth, she was just a dependent housewife doing trivial, replaceable tasks.

But he’d never seen the hours spent coaxing just one more bite into Connor.

The thousands of braiding tutorials saved, practiced relentlessly until she could do them perfectly, painlessly.

For Seth’s impossible standards? She’d studied design, art history – all to be the perfect hostess, the impeccable arm candy.

These “small things”? They were strands woven from pure devotion.

They’d consumed it all, utterly blind to the effort.

Blind to the fact she was more than just a wife, a mother. She was Fiona,

But soon. This life was ending. Soon, she could just be herself.

After days of chaos, Seth finally sensed something deeper was wrong.

“We need to talk.”

He stood by the bed, fingertips tapping the nightstand. “Have you… heard something?”

Oh, yes. The elite circle was small. Gossip traveled fast.

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