Please Come Back, My Love novel Chapter 361

Please Come Back, My Love

Chapter 361

Sophia’s POV

Claire’s intrusion that day didn’t trigger the explosion I had anticipated. Lucas calmed her down with a few cold, irrefutable words, promising he would handle everything.

Then they left together, leaving me with nothing but endless silence and days of isolation that followed.

Three days? Four? Lucas would appear like a ghost, ask the doctors about my condition in that clipped tone, and vanish again.

I was alone. Completely, devastatingly alone.

I spent hours staring at ceiling tiles, counting perforations until my eyes blurred.

The IV was removed after the second day, but they kept me for observation–making sure the bleeding didn’t restart, that the baby was stable. Every time a nurse checked the fetal heartbeat, I held my breath, waiting for bad news that never came.

The baby was fine. Somehow, impossibly, still holding on.

I wished I could say the same for myself.

On what might have been the fourth morning, I watched autumn leaves drift past the window.

They spiraled down from the courtyard trees, each caught in its own private dance before settling on the ground. Dead things, beautiful in their dying.

I pressed my palm against the cold glass and wondered if that’s what I looked like now–something lovely on the surface, but fundamentally finished.

My phone buzzed: [Book three tickets back to New York. Tomorrow. First class.]

No explanation. No “how are you feeling.” Just an order, delivered with the same cold efficiency he used for everything now.

I typed back: Three tickets?

His response came immediately: You, me, and Claire.

Of course. I didn’t respond, just opened the airline app and booked what he’d demanded. First class to JFK. Three seats that probably cost more than most people made in a month.

The flight was torture. Lucas sat between Claire and me, a human barrier.

Claire spent most of the journey with her head on his shoulder, shooting me looks that oscillated between friumph and conteript. kept my eyes on the window, trying not to think about how my stomach was twisting into knots..

When we landed at JFK, Lucas simply collected his carry–on, took Claire’s hand, and walked away. No goodbye. No acknowledgment.

Just gone.

I made it to the curb before a sleek black Mercedes pulled up. The rear window rolled down, and a man in a dark suit leaned out.

“Miss Cruz. Mr. Reynolds sent us to collect you.”

I stepped back. “I didn’t ask for a car.”

“Nevertheless.” He opened the door. “Please.”

“I’m taking a cab. I turned toward the taxi line.

The man got out–easily six–three, built like he lived in a gym. “Mr. Reynolds was very clear. You’re to come with us.”

“And if I refuse?”

Something cold flickered in his eyes. “I’d prefer not to make this difficult.”

My heart started pounding. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m following orders. Please get in the car.”

I looked around desperately, but no one was paying attention to the pregnant woman being strong–armed into a Mercedes.

“This is insane,” I said, but my voice came out weak.

“The car, Miss Cruz.”

I got in.

We drove for forty–five minutes through suburbs, then sprawling estates behind stone walls. Eventually, we turned down a private road lined with oak trees, their branches forming a canopy that blocked the late afternoon sun.

The estate sat at the end like something from a period drama. Three stories of pale stone, surrounded by manicured gardens.

Security cameras mounted everywhere, men in dark suits patrolling the grounds.

Still nothing.

I let my head fall back against the bannister, exhaustion catching up. The baby shifted–or maybe I imagined it–and I pressed my hand against my stomach.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry you’re stuck in this mess with me.”

Margaret appeared with a tea tray. “Please, Miss Cruz. You should eat something. The baby-”

“The baby is fine. Unlike its mother, who’s apparently been kidnapped.”

“Mr. Reynolds only wants what’s best for you and the child.”

“Then he should let me go.”

“I’m afraid that’s not my decision.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “Please, at least have some tea. Chamomile–very soothing.”

I didn’t want tea, but my throat was dry and the smell was nice, so I accepted the cup.

“How long have you worked for him?” I asked finally.

“Three years. Since he purchased this property.”

“And you’re okay with this? Locking up a pregnant woman against her will?”

Margaret’s expression remained neutral. “Mr. Reynolds has always treated his staff with respect and generosity. Whatever his reasons, I’m sure they’re sound.”

“Sound,” I repeated bitterly.

The sun was setting when I heard a car in the drive. I was on my feet before the front door opened, heart pounding as Lucas appeared–still in his business suit, looking tired and completely unbothered by having imprisoned me.

“What the fuck is this?” I demanded, my voice echoing in the foyer. “What are you doing?”

He looked at me for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, calmly: “From now on, you’ll stay here. For the pregnancy. You’re done working.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Done working. As if my career, my independence, my entire life was just… over.

“You can’t My voice broke.

I already did. Your resignation was submitted this morning. Effective immediately.”