Reborn After They Aborted My baby and Stole My Womb Chapter 04

Reborn After They Aborted My baby and Stole My Womb Chapter 04

Calista’s POV 

The day I was discharged, I told Archer I wanted to stay at the Monroe Estate for a while. 

What an ironic request. 

Archer stayed silent for three whole seconds. 

Ultimately, he lowered his head, pressing his cool lips against my hair. “Okay. Go relax there for a bit. 

Whenever you want to come home, I’ll come pick you ùp.” 

The gates to the Monroe Estate slowly opened for me. 

The moment the car stopped, Margot jogged over. She pulled me into her arms. Those hands that confidently wielded scalpels to hollow out my body were now gently patting my back. 

Mommy’s baby, you’ve suffered,” she choked up, her concern flawless. 

Theodore patted my shoulder like the most loving father. 

“Now that you’re home, don’t think about anything. 

Let the kitchen brew the best tonics for you, just focus on resting your body,” he smiled warmly as always. 

Suppressing the churning disgust in my stomach, I followed his gaze to the grand staircase on the second floor. 

My stepbrother Sullivan and his wife Freya were standing there, looking pleased that I was home. 

In the days that followed, I remained docile and pale. Except the hem of my nightgowns quietly shortened an inch, and my shoulder straps would accidentally slip. 

I mapped out Sullivan’s schedule. When he walked by, I’d stretch up to grab a book, arching my back; by the pool, I let water droplets slide down my collarbone; when we brushed past each other in the hallway, I made sure my perfume hit him head–on–he paused his coffee cup for a second, his gaze lingered on my ankle for more than a second, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard. 

The opportunity came faster than I expected. 

Freya flew to Milan for a haute couture gala as a brand ambassador and wouldn’t be back for four days, 

That night, Theodore and Margot had an unavoidable social event at a private club, meaning they wouldn’t be home until early morning. 

Past 10 PM, all the servants had retired to the side wing. 

11 PM. 

Heavy, tired footsteps echoed in the hallway. 

Then, the doorknob turned. 

“Who’s there?!” 

Sullivan suddenly stopped, his tall frame nailed to the spot. 

The warm yellow bedside lamp in his room was on. 

And I was sitting quietly on the edge of his bed. 

A nearly transparent, black silk nightgown hung Moosely on my body. 

The thin strap on the right had completely slipped off, exposing an ungodly amount of pale skin and my deep, alluring collarbone. 

The air froze entirely. 

The veins on the hand Sullivan had on the doorknob popped out, while his other hand, which had been oosening his tie, dropped slowly. 

With his half–undone tie skewed to the side, his eyes- which looked 70% like Theodore’s–were now flashing wildly with a mix of alertness, shock, and an intensely suppressed dark lust. 

“Calista…” his voice was hoarse, like sandpaper. ” What are you doing in my room in the middle of the night?“

I looked at him and slowly curled up the corners of my mouth. 

“Sullivan…” 

“Half a month ago, in the hospital hallway… you hit me so hard.” 

“How do you plan to make it up to me tonight?”