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墨書 Inktalez
He looked momentarily stunned, the corners of his eyes softening slightly. In that instant, I seemed to catch a glimpse of joy in his gaze, but he quickly regained his indifference. "Jiang Jinqing, do you know what you're saying?"
I did know. The thought of being pregnant had crossed my mind countless times. Those lavish romance dramas always portrayed it this way: I would lazily recline on a leather sofa while my billionaire husband, overjoyed, video-called the world's top obstetricians, pacing excitedly around the living room and instructing his personal assistant to immediately order the most expensive prenatal vitamins on the market.
However, the reality was that Song Moting simply sat there coldly, questioning me in a chilling tone if I understood what I was saying.
"The condom broke; I was surprised too," I shrugged. "But since it happened, why not think about how to wrap this up? I've already got a tarnished reputation; adding a scandal as a mistress wouldn't hurt. But interestingly enough, when the media starts speculating about who the father is, do you think anyone will point fingers at the head of Song Group?"
"Utterly absurd! You must be insane."
Song Moting suddenly stood up, and I calmly interrupted him, provocatively making a shushing gesture and laughing. "Mr. Song, be careful; walls have ears."
He furrowed his brows tightly and after a moment spoke coldly, "I will arrange for you to go abroad."
This caught me by surprise; I had expected him to hand me a bottle of RU486 directly. Then I remembered he had no children of his own.
So I mocked him, "What? You don't mean to give this child to your Chen Yan to raise, do you?"
Song Moting looked me up and down, his gaze filled with disdain and disgust. He enunciated each word carefully: "Jiang Jinqing, do you think you deserve that?"
And just like that, Jiang Jinqing embarked on her "study abroad journey."
This was my first time leaving the country. The stretched Lincoln glided through the bustling streets of Manhattan. As we passed by a Michelin Three-Star Restaurant, I quietly rolled down the window.
I happened to see a waiter carrying an exquisite appetizer as he walked out of the restaurant. On the crystal plate lay a colorful array of Molecular Cuisine, adorned with gold leaf that shimmered in the sunlight. The waiter's movements were graceful, as if he were performing a silent symphony.
The air was filled with the scent of expensive perfume and fine tobacco, only to be drowned out moments later by the clamor of bustling traffic. I lost track of time as the noise gradually faded, leaving only the faint sound of tires crunching over the gravel road.
The driver spoke softly, "We've arrived."
I stepped out of the car and watched as the gilded door slowly closed behind me. From one gilded cage to another, it felt as if everything had changed, yet nothing had truly shifted.
This villa was nestled in Long Island's Wealthy District, sprawling and serene, complete with its own private golf course. In short, it was an ideal place for nurturing a pregnancy.
I should have been content, but there was one thing I found hard to accept—every servant attending to me was a foreigner who couldn't speak Chinese.
It was eerily quiet here; each day dragged on with nothing to do but find amusement in shattering precious porcelain. Those priceless antiques I smashed today would be replaced by new ones tomorrow, as if they could never be destroyed completely—just like I could never escape this luxurious prison.
The turning point came on that night when I was one month pregnant. In the backyard stood a towering tree, lush and full of life. Compelled by an inexplicable urge, I climbed up, wanting to see the world beyond this golden cage.
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