Overbearing CEO's Contract Love
Chapter 271: Boy or Girl?

Chapter 271: Boy or Girl?

"Sir, may I suggest something for you?" The saleswoman’s voice held a hint of disappointment, hoping this man was buying for someone else rather than his own child.

The entire store was painted in soft pink and light blue, creating a warm, gentle, and refreshing ambiance. Everything inside exuded an adorable charm, as if children’s smiles were blossoming everywhere. Damien Sterling moved from one side of the store to the other, his attention captivated by the various items on display.

Trailing behind, the saleswoman asked, "Are you shopping for your own baby or as a gift for someone else?"

He didn’t respond, entirely absorbed in exploring the baby products.

From the entrance to the back, she followed, already suspecting that he was just browsing. "No matter how handsome he is," she thought, "it doesn’t help us if he doesn’t improve our sales numbers!"

After asking multiple questions and getting no response, she resigned herself to his cool demeanor.

But then, Damien quietly turned and addressed her. "Everything I touched, pack it up."

The saleswoman stared at him in disbelief, wondering if she’d heard him correctly. Everything he touched?

Hurriedly, she checked the security cameras to verify his movements. "Yes, sir! We’ll package everything up for you."

Halfway through, she returned, barely containing her excitement. Their brand wasn’t affordable for just anyone, and business was naturally slow. Damien Sterling’s purchase would mean a generous commission for them.

"Sir, do you want these in the boy or girl style?"

His hand rested on a baby outfit as he considered the options. The boy’s clothes were charming and slightly dashing, while the little girl’s dresses were sweet and delicate. Damien couldn’t help but think of Emma Hart’s stubborn smile. "Girl."

But then he remembered he already had two strong-willed women at home and wondered how he’d manage. Perhaps a boy would be easier. "Boy."

The saleswoman was baffled, smiling nervously. She asked cautiously, "So, is it a boy or a girl?"

Another attendant approached, suggesting, "The gentleman’s baby probably hasn’t been born yet. Why not prepare both, just to be safe?"

Damien nodded, consenting quietly. "Do it."

"Right away, sir."

His assistant trailed him, juggling the bags filled with baby products as they returned to the restaurant. The scene was almost comical.

In the opulent hotel lobby, the European-style wall lights were extravagant and large, casting a warm glow on the marble floor. International and local art adorned the walls, while plush leather sofas and elegantly designed coffee tables bore an array of desserts.

A group of people awkwardly crossed the lobby and asked Damien Sterling, "Mr. Sterling, what should we do with all these items?"

"Send them back," he replied.

"Send them back?" They exchanged confused glances, but upon confirming Damien’s command, they quickly carried out his orders.

Back at the hospital, Emma Hart woke up. It was her third day there, and with the diligent care of the nurses, her life ran smoothly. Everything was in perfect order, and no one dared neglect her for even a moment.

Afternoons always felt long to Emma. The warm, soothing sunlight spilled in through the windows, and she stretched before slipping into her clothes, preparing to take a walk. Every afternoon at this time, she’d chat with the elderly man who painted in the garden. She wondered if he was still around today.

In the garden, she searched high and low but couldn’t find the old man. She stood still, feeling a sense of loss, as if she’d been deprived of her daily solace. It had become a habit for her to come to the garden and watch the old man paint. She always felt a gentle warmth and peacefulness emanating from him.

Could he have been discharged?

Returning to her ward, she found the young nurse who had accompanied her earlier and called her over. The nurse greeted her warmly, "Miss Emma, what’s the matter? Do you need anything?"

With a smile nearly reaching her ears, her amiable demeanor left Emma feeling slightly overwhelmed. "Well... I was just wondering if you know where the old man who used to paint in the garden has gone."

The nurse’s round, sparkling eyes rolled as she tried to recall whom Emma meant. Then, she seemed to remember, snapping her fingers. "That old man! I know where he is. He’s in the convalescent ward."

"Convalescent ward? Is he ill?"

"Oh, it’s just some elderly ailments," the nurse replied with a smile before adding, "Miss Emma, are you going there? Do you need me to accompany you?"

Emma hurriedly shook her head. "No need."

"Miss Emma..." The nurse called out to Emma Hart as she was about to leave. "It’s time for your afternoon fruit break. Mr. Sterling insists you strictly follow the schedule."

Another schedule. This place was stricter than Mrs. Harris. With her, Emma could sometimes sneak in a little break, but here, the nurses would chase her all over if she didn’t comply.

So, she adhered to the routine: in bed at the scheduled hour, even if she couldn’t sleep, eyes firmly shut. She ate her fruit on time, popping the last cherry into her mouth, licking the juice off her lips before flashing the nurse a smile. "Finished now, okay?"

The nurse nodded, and Emma wasted no time in preparing to head out. She suddenly stopped, grabbed a box of fruit cuts, and walked toward the convalescent ward.

Just as the nurse said, she found the old man reclining by his bed, reading a magazine. Emma approached and shook the box in her hand, offering it to him. "This is for you. Why haven’t you been painting?"

"Thank you," he said, smiling at this innocent girl before him. She exuded a pure and wholesome aura. Wearing simple clothes, her face free of makeup yet glowing with rosy cheeks, she had an infectious smile. They hadn’t met many times, but there was a natural ease between them.

"You still think of an old man like me?" he asked, deeply moved by her kindness. A warm current surged through him as he basked in the pleasant feeling of being remembered.

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