Overbearing CEO's Contract Love
Chapter 52: Understanding Her So Well

Chapter 52: Understanding Her So Well

While Emma stands there, bewildered, Damien suddenly questions, "You’re nearly four months along, aren’t you? Can you still fit into your clothes?"

Emma, naturally slim, doesn’t show much of a baby bump yet.

Even she hasn’t noticed much change, but Damien’s observation is keen.

Before Emma can respond, the surrounding attendants catch on to Damien’s intentions.

They begin recommending items, and Emma, still in a daze, is guided forward by the staff into the boutique.

After a few steps, Emma glances back at Damien.

He’s lounging on a sofa, a coffee cup and tissues on the side table, seemingly without anything else to occupy him.

Has he been watching her all this time?

He flicks his finger subtly.

Emma’s eyes flicker slightly, and, feeling a bit shy, she steps away from the attendants and approaches Damien.

"What’s wrong?"

"Sit."

"But how will I choose clothes?" Emma responds, perplexed.

Emma glanced at the attendants nearby, each eagerly presenting her with clothing options.

Overwhelmed by the array of choices and the staggering price tags attached to each piece, Emma was at a loss.

She knew that if she accepted these clothes, she might never be able to repay the cost.

Noticing her hesitation, the apparent store manager quickly grasped Damien’s intent.

"Miss Emma, you must be tired. Allow us to showcase the clothes for you. You can simply choose what you like."

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Emma nodded in agreement, conscious of Damien’s presence.

She had never experienced such treatment during her previous mall visits, let alone at these high-end boutiques.

Recalling a time when she and a friend had peered into a store only to receive disdainful looks from the staff, Emma now found their eagerness somewhat disconcerting.

"Miss Emma, what do you think of this dress?" asked an attendant, showcasing a chic Chanel-inspired short skirt with meticulous stitching, exuding a mature yet adorable vibe.

Before Emma could respond, Damien approved, "keep this one."

Startled, Emma looked at Damien, who nonchalantly gestured for the attendant to proceed with the next item.

Piece by piece, without much input from Emma, Damien selected what he deemed suitable, quickly amassing over a dozen items.

"That’s enough," Emma protested, a hint of dejection in her tone. "I hardly go out. I won’t even wear these clothes."

Nobody enjoys having their freedom restricted. Even a nightingale refuses to sing in a cage.

"Then wear it when going out." Damien replied, casting a casual glance at Emma, his voice indifferent.

"What?" Emma gasped, shocked by his words. Did she hear him right? Was he loosening his grip, granting her freedom?

That seemed... impossible.

"Don’t you want to visit your mother?" Damien Sterling rose from his seat, casually taking a jacket from the waiter and draping it over Emma Hart.

"Size small, a bit snug," he remarked, evaluating the fit with a discerning eye.

He then turned to the waiter, his voice carrying a note of finality, "We’ll need these clothes in medium."

Emma Hart stood, eyeing her reflection, perplexed.

How did this man know her better than she knew herself?

She didn’t even need to try anything on; he just knew.

But that was no longer of consequence.

What mattered was that Damien Sterling had promised to restore her freedom.

That alone was enough to keep Emma Hart exhilarated throughout the entire day!

Damien Sterling took Emma Hart out for lunch, her face radiant with an unceasing smile.

As they dined, Damien Sterling attentively sliced the steak on his plate and placed it onto Emma’s, meeting her gaze.

Her eyes, clear and smiling, were contagiously joyful.

Even Damien Sterling found himself unwittingly mirroring her smile.

"What’s so funny?" he asked, a hint of warmth in his voice.

Emma Hart paused for a moment, gazing at the steak on her plate, perfectly cut by Damien Sterling.

She remembered Mrs. Harris mentioning that Damien usually preferred his steak less done.

Yet, here it was, cooked to a medium-well just for her.

As he was about to transfer another piece of steak onto her plate, Damien Sterling suddenly looked up, fork in hand, and said, "Open your mouth."

"What?" Confusion flickered across Emma’s face, but she then saw Damien’s fork, steak poised, inching towards her lips.

"Open your mouth," he repeated, a rare instance of him repeating himself.

With a slight bite of her lip and a downward glance, Emma shyly complied, opening her mouth to accept the steak.

Was he treating her like someone incapable?

"Thank you," she murmured.

"It’s just less troublesome," Damien Sterling replied coolly, his voice devoid of emotion as he methodically cut and placed each piece onto her plate, sparing her the effort of doing so herself.

To him, the whole process was too cumbersome; it was simply more efficient for him to directly place the prepared bites into her mouth.

Damien Sterling lived by one principle: keep it simple.

Damien Sterling’s woman, especially one as docile and obedient as she, was someone he was more than willing to pamper excessively, treating her with the delicate care one might offer to someone fragile.

"I wasn’t referring to that," Emma Hart hesitated before continuing, "I wanted to thank you for allowing me to visit my mother."

"I’ve told you, as long as you’re good, I’ll grant all your requests," Damien Sterling responded, his gaze returning to the steak with an icy tone, commanding, "Eat."

After lunch, with business matters calling him away, Damien Sterling had to leave.

Emma Hart, naturally, did not hold him back. Escorted by the driver, she joyfully headed to the hospital to visit her mother.

For several consecutive days, Emma Hart visited her mother in the hospital.

"Miss Emma, ever since the sir allowed you to visit your mother, your spirits seem much uplifted," noted Mrs. Harris.

With a smile plastered on her face, Emma Hart replied, "Mrs. Harris, have you finished preparing the soup you were making for me?"

"Yes, it’s all ready and packed for you," affirmed Mrs. Harris.

Carrying the soup, Emma thought of nourishing her mother, who, despite sometimes favoring her brother, was still infinitely more caring towards her than her grandmother ever was.

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