Michael's hand froze at my words. He looked at me, an indecipherable expression in his gaze.
Sometime later, he wordlessly turned his attention back to his food.
I was not angry that he had not said anything in response. He was introverted, and I saw no need in
forcing him to profess his love for me in all sorts of grand manners. I know that he loves me, and that's
enough for me.
After dinner, I lay on the bed, tossing and turning as I struggled to fall asleep. Our wedding was but a
week away, yet Josephine still hoped that Michael was marrying Emma. I was worried that she would
refuse to give her blessings during our wedding.
Deep in my heart, I knew that marrying Michael would make me the happiest person alive. Still, that did
not mean that I could not care less about his family's blessing.
I flopped over and slung an arm around Michael's waist, sighing as I did so.
“What's wrong?” I would never grow tired of Michael's alluring tone.
“Michael, do you sometimes regret choosing me?” I lifted my head and asked timidly, gazing at his
moonlit profile.
“It's late. You should get some sleep instead of worrying yourself over such nonsense.” He frowned at
my question, evidently displeased.
“Well, I feel guilty. Your relationship with your mom wouldn't be strained today without me in the picture.
I can't help but worry if this is going to make you regret our relationship years down the line.” Shifting
myself to nestle in his embrace, I ignored Michael's frown and voiced my concerns.
Michael may have kept mum about his relationship with his mother, but I could sense that my presence
had driven a wedge between them.
They were family at the end of the day. I did not think that my concern over his potential resentment
was unwarranted.
Michael lowered his head and gave me a piercing stare. “Anna, if you insist on filling your head with
such ridiculous ideas, I'll show you right now that you're the only person I could ever love. Aren't my
actions obvious enough? Or do you need me to repeat myself?”
I knew Michael would never joke about such a thing. I'm trying to engage him in a serious conversation
here! Why is his mind turning to sex? Sometimes, I swear I have no idea how his mind works.
Despite my dissatisfaction with his threat, I bit my tongue and kept quiet; I was well aware of his
personality. The slightest protest was all the motivation he needed to fulfill his threat.
We may have been living together now, but beyond that first night, Michael had refrained from being
intimate with me for our baby's safety. Every time I happened to see the longing in his gaze, the guilt in
my heart grew a little more.
I knew he was struggling to keep his urge in check for the baby in my womb. His efforts alone spoke
volumes about how much he loved and cherished me.
I closed my eyes and pretended to fall asleep, though I could feel his gaze burning a hole through my
body.
He can't possibly be thinking of doing it, right?
“Anna?” Michael's voice had gone hoarse, betraying his lust and desire.
“Yes?” I grew nervous at his tone, sensing that his self-control was about to snap at any moment.
“I can't wait anymore.”
The sheets rustled from Michael's movement, and I saw a faint glow coming from the nightlight he had
just switched on. The light illuminated his handsome face and imbued the room with a romantic
ambiance.
My heartbeat quickened at his words, a plethora of emotions whirling in my heart.
It was a heart wrenching decision to refuse him, but I had to prioritize the safety of the baby. I spoke
hesitantly, “The first trimester is the most dangerous period—”
Michael cut in, “I promise I'll be gentle. I won't hurt the baby.”
In the next moment, he placed his hand on my shoulder and caressed my arm, sliding it down toward
my elbow.
I began shivering, desire and logic warring in my mind. I knew what he was about to do, yet it seemed
a herculean task to voice my objection. His ragged breathing was gradually chipping away at my
insistence.
Even on our first night together, it was evident that he had been holding back. I found myself softening
even more toward his struggles.
“Michael, I—”
“Not a word.” He pressed a finger on my lips to silence me.
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