[BL] Oops! I Seduced My Sister's Fiance (And Now I'm Pregnant)-Chapter 26: The First Lesson

Knocking wakes me.

Soft and polite. Mrs. Wen’s voice filters through the door. "Young Master Li?"

I blink at the unfamiliar ceiling, cream paint, crown molding. The Wuchen estate.

Right.

"Come in."

She enters with a breakfast tray of toast, sliced fruit, and a glass of what looks like warm milk.

The first morning, she’d brought a full breakfast...eggs, rice, vegetables. I’d taken one look and barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up, the smell alone had been enough.

Yesterday she’d adjusted, plain crackers, ginger tea, simple things that didn’t make my stomach rebel immediately.

Today: fruit and milk.

She’s learning what I can tolerate without me having to say anything.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, setting the tray on the desk.

"Fine."

A lie, but what else do I say? *I’m pregnant with a baby I didn’t plan, trapped in a house where I know no one, about to marry a man I barely know, and I can’t stop thinking about my sister’s face when she found out?*

Mrs. Wen doesn’t push, she just nods like she understands anyway.

"Breakfast is at seven from now on," she says. "Grandmother Wuchen expects you in the parlor at eight."

Right. Training starts today.

"Thank you, Mrs. Wen."

She pauses at the door. "If you need anything..."

"I know. Thank you."

She leaves quietly.

I look at the tray. The fruit actually looks appealing...melon, strawberries, grapes. The milk smells... neutral. Not offensive.

I manage half the fruit and most of the milk before my stomach decides that’s enough.

Better than yesterday.

At eight exactly, I make my way downstairs to the parlor.

Grandmother Wuchen is already there, seated in that same high-backed chair, she looks at me with sharp, assessing eyes.

"Good morning, Grandmother Wuchen," I say, keeping my voice level.

She inclines her head slightly. "Sit."

I sit on the sofa across from her.

"Your posture is atrocious," she says immediately. "Straighten your spine. Shoulders back. Chin level."

I adjust.

"Better. Now stand."

I stand.

"Walk to the door and back."

I do.

"You shuffle. Pick up your feet. Move with purpose, not like you’re trying to disappear."

I try again.

"Better," she says, though she doesn’t sound particularly impressed. "Now we begin properly."

The next two hours are brutal.

How to sit without slouching, how to stand without looking awkward, how to hold a teacup (pinky down, not up...that’s gauche apparently). How to greet business partners with the right amount of deference without seeming weak.

Every mistake is corrected immediately and sharply.

"No, your hand position is wrong."

"You’re mumbling. Speak clearly."

"Do you want to embarrass this family at every function you attend?"

My feet start hurting after the first hour from standing in the "proper" position. My back aches from keeping my spine rigid. By the time she finally dismisses me, I’m exhausted.

"Lunch is at noon in the dining room," she says. "Do not be late."

She doesn’t say she’ll be there, just that lunch will be served.

I make my way to the dining room at exactly noon.

The table is massive, could easily seat twenty people. Today it’s set for two.

Me at one end, an empty seat at the other.

Grandmother Wuchen is nowhere to be seen. She must take her meals elsewhere, or maybe she has other commitments, I don’t know her schedule and no one’s volunteered to tell me.

Staff bring out the food...clear broth, plain rice, steamed vegetables, sliced chicken breast.

Simple, bland things that won’t trigger nausea, someone’s been paying attention.

Ten minutes later, Bael appears.

He’s in work clothes..dress shirt, slacks. Must have been in his home office all morning.

He sits at the opposite end of the table without a word, and starts eating.

The silence is heavy.

I focus on my soup, which is bland enough not to trigger nausea.

"How was the training?"

His voice startles me, I look up.

He’s watching me, expression unreadable.

I dab my mouth with the napkin the way Grandmother drilled into me this morning.

Then go back to my soup without answering.

His eyes stay on me for a long moment.

I feel the weight of his stare but I don’t look up, don’t acknowledge it.

"How’s your body?" he tries again. "The ribs, the bruises."

I set my spoon down carefully. Pick up a piece of steamed carrot with my chopsticks, examine it like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

I still don’t answer.

The silence stretches.

Finally, Bael goes back to his food.

He finishes quickly, efficiently. Then stands.

"I have work," he says to no one in particular.

And leaves.

Just like that.

I sit alone at the massive table, pushing rice around my plate.

The house is so quiet I can hear the clock ticking in the hallway.

This is my life now.

Etiquette training with Grandmother who criticizes everything, silent meals in an empty dining room, hours in between with nothing to do but exist.

I can’t think about Feifei.

Can’t think about Mother’s face, or Father turning his back, or the life I left behind.

It hurts too much.

So I don’t.

After lunch, I go back to my room.

The architecture sketches are still in my suitcase where I packed them. I pull them out and spread them across the desk.

Original Runze’s work. Museum designs, residential complexes, that commercial building with the innovative flow.

Looking at them doesn’t hurt the way thinking about my family does.

They’re just lines and shapes, abstract, safe.

I study them until my eyes blur.

When that stops working, I pull out my phone and open a mindless game. Something with bright colors and simple mechanics that requires zero thought.

Hours pass.

Mrs. Wen brings dinner to my room without me asking. More bland, safe foods.

I eat what I can.

The sun sets outside my window.

I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.

Tomorrow will be the same. Etiquette training, silent lunch, empty hours.

Day after day after day.

Until the wedding.

Until the baby.

Until... what? The rest of my life?

I close my eyes and try not to think about it.

Try not to think about anything at all.

Because thinking leads to remembering.

And remembering leads to Feifei’s face, broken and crying.

To Mother’s fists.

To Father’s back turned.

To everything I destroyed.

So I don’t think.

I just exist.

One day at a time.

Surviving.

Because that’s all I can do.

...For now.