Ch. Sorry Hayden, I’m Seven Months Pregnant with Another Man’s Baby 17 Sorry Hayden, I’m Seven Months Pregnant with Another Man’s Baby 17

Chapter 5 

I hadn’t come here to fight. But I was fully prepared to tear everything apart if he tried to corner me. 

So when I actually dialed 911, Charles froze. 

He lunged forward, snatched my phone, and hung up the call with a sharp tap of his thumb. 

“Eleanor, have you lost your mind?” 

“I haven’t,” I said evenly. “I just wanted to see whether the law would agree with what you just said.” 

Maybe he hadn’t expected me to press him this hard. The panic on his face was unmistakable. 

He pressed his lips together, “Alright. Enough, I know you’re upset about Madeline. Starting tomorrow, I won’t 

meet her alone anymore. Is that enough?” 

He paused, then added quickly, as if offering a bonus to close the deal. “And the wedding, I’ll set a date right 

now.” 

He pulled out his phone. “I’ve been following this wedding design firm for a while. I was planning to talk it through with you after this trip. Look…” 

He turned the screen toward me, scrolling through his chat history with the consultant. 

I skimmed it. Everything looked… legitimate. 

Except for one line. [Do you have blue-toned gowns or suits available?] 

I remembered very clearly, blue was Madeline’s favorite color. 

And I’d told Charles more than once: it was the one color I hated most. 

So this wedding, who had it really been planned for? The answer was obvious. 

I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. 

“I have a flight tonight,” I said calmly. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be leaving.” 

“The apartment keys are in the mailbox. Don’t contact me again. If it’s unavoidable, try not to.” 

Then I turned and walked out. 

The moment I opened the office door, Madeline stumbled forward. She’d been eavesdropping. 

“I, I’m sorry. Mr. Reed, Eleanor, I was worried you were arguing because of me, so I…” 

She looked at me, hands clasped, expression painfully earnest. “Eleanor, if you’re leaving because of me, 

please don’t. Mr. Reed loves you. He really does. He can’t live without you.” 

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave the company today, does that work for you?” 

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She theatrically grabbed a blank sheet from Charles’ desk, ready to sign her resignation. Her over-the-top 

antics made me chuckle. 

But Charles didn’t see it. He rushed forward, yanking the paper and pen from her hands. 

“This has nothing to do with you,” he said firmly. “You’re innocent. If anyone leaves, it shouldn’t be you.” 

“But if Eleanor leaves, Madeline whispered, “what will happen to the company?” 

Charles turned to me, eyes cold. “I don’t believe Reed Innovations will collapse without her.” 

Perhaps Madeline’s words had rattled him. He didn’t try to stop me. 

With a cold edge in his voice, he said, “Eleanor, make sure you’re thinking this through, the company will function just fine without you. But once you leave, you may not find another employer who treats you as well 

as I do.” 

“If you want to go, I won’t stop…” 

I didn’t wait for him to finish. I walked straight out. 

Behind me, his voice cracked with anger. “Don’t regret this, Eleanor.” 

I won’t. 

That night, I went straight to the airport. 

By the time I landed overseas, Professor Jonathan Keller had already arranged everything. 

The next morning, I stepped back into the Northbridge Advanced Research Institute, and into the life I’d 

abandoned years ago. 

Back then, Charles had said he liked robotics. So I’d chosen the field at the very start of university, poured 

myself into it, studied relentlessly. 

Later, his interests shifted. Again and again. 

As I immersed myself in my work, I became more and more drawn in, unable to pull away. 

Even while working at his company, doing work completely unrelated to research, I’d never stopped following 

advancements in the field. 

So when I returned, it didn’t feel difficult. It felt like coming home. 

Charles messaged me a few times. Mostly variations of the same thing: He didn’t believe I’d really left. He 

was “giving me space.” He was offering me ways back. 

I didn’t respond. 

Then he sent photos. An internal notice, Madeline’s reassignment. 

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[I checked. Your resignation wasn’t approved by me. It was Madeline’s mistake, she didn’t know it was yours.] 

[I’ve transferred her to logistics. She won’t touch company operations again.] 

[You’ve sulked long enough. Come back.] 

Soon after, Madeline sent a long apology. 

Very long. Very earnest. Too earnest. 

It was an acrostic, carefully hidden mockery threaded through polite phrasing. 

Obviously written at Charles’s insistence. 

He hadn’t even bothered to read it before telling her to send it. 

Funny. When I so much as breathed wrong, he accused me of targeting her. 

Now she insulted me openly, and he saw nothing. 

I let out a scoff, entirely unsurprised, and didn’t bother wasting my time on them. 

With a single tap, they were deleted. 

I thought it was done, but late that night, Charles’s video call caught me off 

guard. 

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