Dressed in the tiered dress, she looked even more delicate and alluring than in his dream. Rowan pulled her entirely into his personal space.
His warm palm pressed gently against her flat stomach. "This belongs to me. Only my child will grow here. Do you understand?"
Lyra froze, her eyes instantly reddening as she shot back, "I'm not getting pregnant!"
His tone softened slightly. "When you're older."
He knew she was still young, and he wasn't ready to be a father either. "In a few years," he continued, "give me a son."
A chill ran through Lyra's chest.
Forget a few years—she'd rather find a random guy off the street to have a child with than ever carry his baby. In her past life, she had willingly given him everything, baring her heart to him over and over again, only for him to casually crush it without a second thought.
A maid broke the tension by delivering breakfast to the side dining room.
Rowan guided Lyra to the table. The atmosphere was stifling, and he couldn't figure out which of his words had triggered such a cold reaction from her.
Lyra kept her expression rigid, wrapping herself in a wall of icy detachment. "I'm leaving."
Rowan glanced at her barely touched plate. After a moment of silence, he urged softly, "Eat a little more."
She lowered her gaze, avoiding his eyes completely. Her stare was dead and empty; she didn't even want to pretend anymore. "I have to go to work."
Rowan didn't move. He just stared at her quietly. After a long beat, a smile formed on his lips, though it never reached his eyes. "Or we could just stay here all day."
Lyra paused, then slowly picked up her fork, mechanically shoving a few bites into her mouth. She couldn't taste a thing. Dropping her fork, she looked up at him. "Can I go now?"
He studied her detached, businesslike demeanor and let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Should I give you a nickname? How about 'Heartless'?"
Lyra's expression didn't shift; her eyelashes didn't even flutter.
"Whatever."

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