The Bullet Comments Called Me Stupid And Doomed Chapter 07

The Bullet Comments Called Me Stupid And Doomed Chapter 07

Back when Julian still had money, I was a full-time trophy wife. After the bankruptcy, I landed a receptionist job — mostly because of my face, obviously. The pay was barely above minimum wage, but the job was easy, and I wasn’t about to complain.

Julian had said to meet at the lawyer’s office first thing the next morning, so I messaged my manager and took the morning off.

I didn’t sleep that night. Of course I didn’t. I finally drifted off close to dawn and fell straight into a nightmare.

The dream kept splitting into two versions. In one, Julian and I grew into something real — our arranged marriage turning into real love, the whole beautiful life.

In the other, I was lured to Los Cuervos and died with my baby still inside me, while Julian and the female lead built their empire together.

I fought to wake up — clawed at the edges of sleep — but the dream wouldn’t let go. My alarm dragged me out early that morning.

I barely had time to breathe before the nausea hit. I barely made it to the bathroom. I came out of the bathroom and cried. Just — cried. Like I had no say in it.

A moment later I got disgusted with myself, scrubbed my face dry, and forced the rest of it down. I couldn’t stomach food. I washed my face, got dressed, and drove straight to the lawyer’s office.

I’d never been car sick in my life. But pregnancy had apparently rewritten the rules — barely into the drive, the smell of the car alone was enough to turn my stomach.

I white-knuckled it the whole way. The second I parked, I threw the door open and threw up against the nearest tree. There was nothing in me — I’d only had water that morning. After the first heave, it was just bile and dry retching, my body trying to turn itself inside out over nothing.

I crouched there for a long moment, my forehead pressed to the bark, waiting for the world to stop tilting. A water bottle appeared in front of my face.

I looked up. Julian.

His face was completely closed off. Not a flicker of worry. Nothing even close.

I forced something like a smile, took the bottle, rinsed my mouth, and spat. “Thanks. I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Julian hesitated. “Have you gotten your period this month?”

I stared at him. “What are you trying to say?”

Julian shifted, visibly uncomfortable. “Last time — right after your period — we… didn’t use anything. And tracking your cycle isn’t exactly foolproof, so…”

That night I’d come home tipsy from drinks with coworkers, wound up and touchy, and climbed on top of him before he could reach for protection. I’d figured the timing was fine — it had never been a problem before — so I didn’t bother with Plan B.

But I wasn’t about to tell him any of that.

I scoffed. “Relax. It’s just carsickness.”

“And even if I were pregnant, I wouldn’t ask you to raise the baby. Just give me the settlement, and I’ll handle it myself.”

Something cracked in his composure. “That’s not what I — I didn’t mean it like that. I just…”

I was already walking toward the entrance. “Save it. We’re here to sign papers, so let’s get it over with.”

He stopped talking.

Outside, I turned to him. “Don’t forget — the final signing is in a few weeks. Be there.”

“Okay.” A small nod. Nothing else.