Chapter 2180

Nathaniel let out a quiet sigh, the kind that left a faint wisp of fog in the hospital’s cold fluorescent light. He turned to Ernest, his eyes softer than anyone else in the room would have guessed, and said, “Come on. Let’s go.”

Ernest finally fell into step beside him as the two men left the corridor behind.

Off to the side, Zachary watched them disappear through the glass doors, his brow slowly creasing.

Why would Nathaniel shield Ernest? Doesn’t he know that man is my love rival? How strange…

Later, after returning, Nathaniel quietly informed Zachary that Ernest’s wife had died during childbirth.

Guilt hit Zachary like a sudden gale. His shoulders slumped under its invisible weight.

He might dislike Ernest, but rubbing salt into a fresh wound felt unforgivable.

“Mr. Rainsworth, thank you for stepping in,” Ernest said with weary gratitude. Then confusion crept into his expression. “But why did you make Miranda write a letter of guarantee?”

To him, such documents belonged in a classroom—or between a wife and a wayward husband.

“Because today wasn’t her first offense,” Nathaniel replied, his tone crisp as winter air.

Miranda had tried more than once to pin her own schemes on Cecilia. Enough was enough.

Now that there was a handwritten guarantee on record, if she ever pulled the same stunt again, Nathaniel could wave that paper like courtroom evidence and slap it straight back in her face.

Understanding dawned on Ernest. “I see. That’s… very clever.”

They slid into Nathaniel’s sedan, the leather seats still warm from the afternoon sun. He dropped Ernest off at his apartment, then turned the wheel toward his own home. On the way, he called Cecilia and told her everything had been resolved.

After hearing that, Cecilia relayed the news to Charlotte, who sat stiffly beside her, knuckles white against the cushion.

Only then did the invisible boulder crushing Charlotte’s chest finally loosen and roll away.

“Boss, I really don’t know how to thank you and Mr. Rainsworth.”

“I’ve told you before—we’re friends. Drop the formalities.”

After a brief pause, Cecilia added, “And listen. Your situation is different now. Any time you step in for someone else, promise me you’ll protect yourself first. Do you hear me?”

Charlotte liked to pretend a night in a holding cell meant nothing, but Cecilia couldn’t shake the worry.

After all, Charlotte was carrying a fragile new life beneath her heart.

Charlotte nodded solemnly, the motion heavy with promise.

“Speaking of that,” Cecilia said gently, “have you made a decision?”

Whether Charlotte wanted to keep the child—and how, or even if, to tell Sven—still hung unresolved in the air.

Charlotte lowered her gaze, letting the silence speak for her.

“It’s tearing me apart, Boss. I honestly don’t know what to do.”

“Tell me what’s going through your mind.”

“On one hand, I want to keep Sven’s child. This is a life we’re talking about. On the other hand, I’m afraid of becoming his weakness. If he worries about me and the baby, his enemies will have something to exploit.”

“Everyone has a soft spot,” Cecilia said calmly. “That’s what makes us human. Erasing it so no one can use it against you is the same as never having loved at all. If that’s the case, then it was never a weakness to begin with.”

A faint ripple passed through Charlotte’s previously hollow gaze. She lifted her eyes to Cecilia, wide and searching.

“I think you’re right, Boss.”

Almost unconsciously, her hand drifted to the gentle curve of her belly.

Resolve settled inside her at last. She finally knew what she wanted to do. “Okay, Boss. I’ve made up my mind.”

Cecilia’s words had cut through her confusion like morning light through a long night. Charlotte straightened, her spine filled with new determination.

“Boss, I’m heading home.”

“All right. Get some rest,” Cecilia said, walking her to the door.

Back in her apartment, Charlotte collapsed onto the bed, gathered her courage, and dialed Sven’s number.

The call rang and rang, each second adding weight to her chest, until the line finally connected.

Sven’s warm baritone came through. “Lottie, what’s up?”

“Where are you? What are you doing right now?” She kept her tone casual, afraid he might not be alone.

“I’m in the bedroom, about to turn in.”

Only then did Charlotte breathe a little easier, courage finally gathering.

“Sven… there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m pregnant.”