Overbearing CEO's Contract Love
Chapter 41: A Lethal Presence

Chapter 41: A Lethal Presence

Emma Hart paced back and forth in the small garden, furrowing her brow at the men around her.

Impatiently, she remarked, "Forget it, I’m done. It’s not interesting anymore."

In the kitchen, Mrs. Harris was wiping dishes. Seeing Emma approaching, she asked kindly, "Miss Emma, are you hungry?"

"Mrs. Harris, I’d like a glass of juice."

"Alright, I’ll make it for you now."

Mrs. Harris took out fresh fruits, carefully selecting a few. "Let’s use these. "

"Okay, Mrs. Harris, let me do it. I’ve been idle all day; using the juicer isn’t exactly hard labor."

After a moment’s thought, considering Emma’s boredom, Mrs. Harris agreed, "Alright, be careful. I’ll tidy up the living room."

"Okay."

Emma methodically added the fruits into the juicer.

Noticing Mrs. Harris busy in the living room, she slyly tossed in the green plant she had picked from the garden and pressed the start button.

The juicer whirred into action, pulverizing the fruits in an instant, creating a brightly colored vortex.

But only Emma knew that even the most beautiful things can have adverse effects if misused.

Holding the freshly prepared juice, Emma took a sip.

Mrs. Harris, glancing over unintentionally, remarked, "The color of that juice seems off?"

Emma’s hand trembled slightly, pausing before replying, "Oh? No, what’s wrong?"

Mrs. Harris hurried to the refrigerator and opened the compartment dedicated to fruits. "Let me check for any spoiled ones."

After a thorough inspection, she found nothing amiss.

These fruits were air-shipped by Damien Sterling, always in-season and guaranteed fresh.

No one dared to be negligent with Damien’s orders; it seemed unlikely that any were spoiled.

"Mrs. Harris, you might be overthinking it. The variety could be different, which might explain the color variation. It tastes fine to me," Emma Hart explained, her eyes flickering uneasily.

Fortunately, Mrs. Harris didn’t press further.

In the afternoon, several workers knocked on the door, spoke briefly with the men in black, and after a phone confirmation, they entered, carrying materials.

"What are you here for?"

"We’ve been instructed by Mr. Sterling’s assistant to replace the carpets."

Mrs. Harris, though puzzled, allowed them to proceed.

The workers headed upstairs and in no time, had carpeted the entire wooden flooring of the room.

"Why suddenly carpet the whole place?" Mrs. Harris muttered.

Emma Hart recalled a recent incident when she nearly slipped delivering a towel to Damien Sterling because of water on the floor.

Could that be the reason?

She wasn’t one to fuss, but she knew it wasn’t for her sake, but for the child in her womb - a fact Emma was acutely aware of.

Damien Sterling was indeed taking every precaution for his child, indicating to Emma just how important the baby was to him.

Looking down at her belly, Emma knew that to those women outside, desperate for a piece of Damien Sterling, this child was a golden ticket into a wealthy family.

But for Emma, it represented a gilded cage, a lethal existence.

Standing before the full-length mirror, Emma Hart, clad in white lingerie, maintained her figure exceptionally well.

Even several months into her pregnancy, her belly wasn’t very noticeable. But this was no solution.

Despite appearances, the child inside her was indeed growing day by day.

This couldn’t go on forever.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Harris passed by and noticed Emma making juice again.

"Miss Emma, consuming more Vitamin C, combined with both your strong genes, will surely result in a beautiful baby."

Such comments always made Emma uncomfortable, but she knew everyone anticipated the arrival of a new life.

She didn’t wish to be a bad mother, yet thoughts of the baby’s father instantly dampened her spirits.

Seeing Emma’s reluctance to discuss anything about the child, Mrs. Harris didn’t press further.

In the evening, when Damien Sterling returned, Emma quietly ate her dinner at the table.

"How was your day?"

Damien suddenly spoke, a rare initiative in conversation, especially with so many people around. Who was he asking?

It didn’t matter; Emma didn’t want to respond.

Mrs. Harris, typically silent in such matters, sensed the awkward atmosphere and chimed in, "Miss Emma has been doing well these past few days."

"She spends her leisure time looking after plants, reading magazines, moving around the house. She’s also been punctual with various supplements."

"Plus, Miss Emma has recently taken up the habit of drinking juice. Mr. Sterling, don’t you think Miss Emma’s skin looks even better now?"

Damien Sterling paused with his fork mid-air, examining Emma Hart’s face intently, almost analytically, before responding coolly, "Really? I think her skin has become rougher again."

Emma nearly choked on her food. How dare he scrutinize and judge her so?

What did he mean by ’again’? Had he been observing her before? How infuriating.

After dinner, while Damien busied himself in another study, Emma stood before the mirror, scrutinizing her face.

Was her skin really that bad? She leaned closer, pulling at her skin for a closer look. It didn’t seem rough.

Maybe Damien’s eyes were the problem, though she did notice a few pimples.

Considering she was cooped up in this prison-like villa, it was a wonder she didn’t have more.

Damien entered the room, his gaze falling on Emma standing by the mirror, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Indeed, the pursuit of beauty never changes in a woman. Every woman is the same.

Seeing Damien enter, Emma awkwardly moved away from the mirror, her feet sinking into the soft carpet. No chance of slipping now.

Their eyes met as she looked up, his gaze sweeping up from the floor to hers.

Damien seemed quite pleased with his own handiwork.

"If you’re so concerned about your skin, I’ll have someone from the spa come over tomorrow for a skin treatment."

He said casually, unbuttoning his dark shirt with a wild ease, hand on his belt, heading towards the bathroom.

His tone was as nonchalant as if he were asking Emma to pick up a cabbage from the market.