Overbearing CEO's Contract Love
Chapter 72: The Hungry Child

Chapter 72: The Hungry Child

As evening fell, Damien Sterling’s car arrived punctually, parking next to the fountain outside.

The driver respectfully opened the door, and Damien stepped out, his presence as imposing as ever, though to Emma, he seemed perennially shrouded in gloom.

Entering the house, the phone rang, and Damien answered with a detached, "Take care of it."

Emma tensed immediately, her hand gripping the sofa tightly.

Who was on the call? What did that final "Take care of it" imply? Could it be about Ethan Turner? The thought panicked Emma.

Unbeknownst to her, Damien had approached, noting Emma’s discomfort.

"Feeling unwell?" he inquired, his tone calm, betraying no sign of their previous confrontations.

Emma, momentarily lost in thought, nearly blurted out, "What have you done to him?" but held back, knowing full well such a question would only incite Damien.

"It’s nothing," she murmured, pressing her lips together, striving to mask her earlier distress to avoid arousing his suspicions.

The matter concerning Ethan Turner required careful consideration. They held no deep grudges, so surely Damien wouldn’t harm him.

Yet, Damien’s temper was unpredictable, capable of actions beyond reason.

Emma Hart had never doubted this moment would come.

"It’s alright then," Damian Sterling said softly, extending a hand in front of Emma, "Let’s go have dinner."

Damian’s gesture was so natural, as if extending his hand for meals was a routine gesture, leaving one to wonder how this man could so easily let bygones be bygones.

However, Emma Hart did not extend her hand back but instead rose to walk towards the dining table.

Behind her, Damian Sterling didn’t utter a word of blame. He simply closed his fingers and followed Emma to the table.

Emma found herself with little appetite, picking at her food aimlessly, with little actually making it to her mouth.

The exquisite meal before her, paired with the delicate dinnerware, failed to spark any interest in her.

Damian Sterling, while eating, glanced over at Emma, his gaze then falling on her almost untouched plate.

"Not eating? What about the baby inside you?" he thought.

Damian took a gold-rimmed porcelain bowl from in front of Emma. Mrs. Harris stepped forward with a spoon, only for Damian to take it from her.

"I’ll do it."

Mrs. Harris hesitated before placing the spoon down.

Damian then brought the soup he had prepared to Emma, causing her to look up in surprise.

He naturally placed the bowl of soup before Emma. "Drink this," he said, his gaze lowered, not looking at her.

"I’m not hungry."

"The baby is hungry."

"The baby isn’t hungry," Emma stubbornly replied.

"How would you know?" Damian finally looked up at Emma, his gaze cold.

"Because... I’m her mother, I know," Emma said, lowering her gaze.

"I’m the child’s father, so I know as well," Damian stated firmly, spooning up some soup and bringing it to Emma’s lips, "Drink."

Emma didn’t open her mouth, as if caught in a stalemate.

She knew how dangerous her refusal was, risking the ire of this unpredictable man, yet she still didn’t feel like opening her mouth.

"Drink this soup, and tomorrow, you’ll have your freedom," Damian Sterling teased, waving the spoon in front of Emma Hart’s eager eyes.

Emma’s eyes sparkled with anticipation, almost desperate for Damian’s confirmation. "Are you serious?"

The promise of unrestricted freedom, the liberty to go out, was paramount for Emma Hart.

"Serious."

"Fine, I’ll drink." In some matters, Emma Hart was willing to compromise, freedom being one of them.

Emma reached out to take the spoon from Damian, but as her hand nearly touched it, Damian retracted his hand, evading her grasp.

"I’ll feed you," he declared in a tone that brooked no argument, bringing the spoon back towards Emma’s lips, "Open up."

Remembering the promise he had just made, Emma decided to endure it. Just as she was about to open her mouth, a thought struck her.

"What’s the price?"

Damian looked puzzled, "What?"

"For everything you make me do, there’s a price. For instance, this isn’t how I chose to dine, so you should pay a price," Emma stated boldly, not knowing how Damian would react, whether good or bad.

She was simply taking a gamble.

Damian hadn’t anticipated Emma’s words. Contrary to her expectation of anger, a smile actually played across his face.

"You’re getting a better business sense."

Was she learning to calculate from him?

"Learned from the best."

If she was absorbing anything, it should be these cunning tactics from him. If he could treat her this way, then she too had to learn a thing or two.

Without this approach, Emma wasn’t sure when she would ever be free from this man.

"So, how much is this spoonful worth?" Damian lifted Emma’s chin, examining her with a mix of assertiveness and playfulness.

Emma held up five fingers, "Five hundred!"

Damian almost burst into laughter, a mocking smile spreading across his face. This woman didn’t ask for a lot of money..

Whatever she asked, he would pay.

"Deal!" Damian dropped Emma’s chin, scooping up the soup once again and bringing it to her lips, "Five hundred."

Emma Hart obediently opened her mouth, pondering if she had set her price too low.

It felt like those moments when you haggle over something, and the seller agrees too quickly, leaving you feeling like you’ve just made a bad deal.

As the second spoonful approached, Emma preemptively declared, "One thousand."

She didn’t seem like the type to be so materialistic and power-driven, but now, her eyes almost exclusively saw things in terms of money.

That money was a chain binding her, ensuring their accounts were settled so she could leave more easily.

Damian Sterling hadn’t even moved the spoon closer when Emma began to preemptively answer.

She felt a bit guilty under Damian’s gaze, wondering if he thought she was selling herself out for money, which was somewhat true.

"I... I just don’t want you to forget," Emma said awkwardly.

"I don’t have anything else."

"One thousand five..." Damian preempted as he scooped up the third spoonful.

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