She Was Never Just the Billionaire’s Wife (Natasha and Chase) novel Chapter 30

Chapter 30 The Suspicions

(Natasha)

Pulling my car into the circular driveway of the Warren estate, my hands grip the steering wheel tight.

There’s every possibility that Chase has ulterior motives for asking me to be here while he’s gone.

But I can’t bring myself to care. Seven days with Lily is worth any risk.

Chase opens the door the moment I ring the bell.

“You’re early,” he comments, checking his watch.

“I want to spend as much time with Lily as possible,” I reply.

“The staff has strict orders to assist you with anything you need,” Chase says.

“My mother is inside. I expect civil behavior from both of you.”

“I’m here for Lily,” I remind him. “Not to fight with Eleanor.”

He gives a short nod. “I’ll be back next Friday.”

His driver pulls into the driveway and hops out to hold the back door open.

“If there’s an emergency, contact me immediately,” he says firmly.

Giving me a glimpse into how hard he’s finding it to leave Lily behind.

“Everything will be fine,” I assure him.

“I know it will. I trust you.”

His words come as a shock, but before I can respond he’s jogging down the stairs toward the waiting car.

Taking a deep breath, I push the front door open and head straight upstairs to the nursery.

Approaching the door, a soft, unfamiliar sound stops me in my tracks.

Pushing the door open slowly, my jaw drops.

Eleanor Warren is sitting in the plush rocking chair by the window, holding Lily securely in her arms, swaying back and forth.

Her face is soft, and she gazes down at my tiny daughter with genuine affection.

“Eleanor,” I say, breaking the silence.

She looks up and her expression freezes for a fraction of a second before hardening into her usual neutral mask.

“You’re here,” Eleanor notes, standing up smoothly.

Walking closer, my arms ache to hold my daughter.

Surprisingly, Eleanor doesn’t try to keep Lily away from me.

Instead, she steps forward and gently transfers her into my arms.

“She prefers resting on her left side,” Eleanor instructs quietly.

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“And she gets fussy if the room is too warm. Keep the thermostat at seventy degrees.”

Staring at my mother-in-law, a sense of shock ripples through me.

Eleanor is acting like a doting grandmother.

I know how much she hates me, but she handles my daughter with incredible tenderness.

“I’ll take good care of her,” I reply, pulling the pink blanket snug around Lily.

“See that you do,” Eleanor says, walking toward the door.

A few hours later, the peace of the afternoon shatters.

I’m sitting in the downstairs living room, holding Lily against my chest, when the sound of high heels echoes through the hallway.

Sonia struts into the room, wearing a skin-tight designer dress.

She’s obviously treating the house as if her name is already on the deed.

Seeing me on the sofa, her fake smile vanishes instantly.

“What are you doing here?” Sonia demands, her voice sharp and annoyed.

“Chase left for Japan. He asked me to stay for the week to take care of Lily,” I answer calmly. Refusing to let her

rile me.

“Lily?” Sonia sneers, dropping her bag onto a nearby chair.

“You finally named her. How quaint. Enjoy playing house while it lasts. Once my baby arrives, Chase won’t have the time or energy for your little mistakes.”

She walks over to the bar cart and pours herself a glass of sparkling water.

Watching her move, I notice something strange.

Sonia announced her pregnancy to me more than two months ago.

While I don’t expect her to be showing much, there should be some changes to her belly and breasts.

The dress she’s wearing leaves nothing to the imagination. It clings to every curve.

If anything, she’s thinner than she used to be.

Suddenly, Lily lets out a loud, piercing cry.

Sonia flinches violently. She rubs her temples in deep annoyance, glaring at my baby.

She displays zero maternal instinct.

“Is your morning sickness gone?” I ask casually, bouncing Lily on my shoulder to soothe her.

Sonia stiffens. She refuses to look at me, staring down at her glass instead.

“I’m fine,” Sonia snaps. “My doctor says I’m carrying very small.”

“Small,” I repeat, letting the word hang in the air.

“Some women are just naturally delicate,” she argues defensively, crossing her arms over her chest.

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The defensive posture only highlights her incredibly flat waist.

And at this point in my pregnancy, my breasts ached terribly.

Crossing my arms that way would have been very uncomfortable.

A dark suspicion takes root in my mind.

Months of feeling the heavy, undeniable physical changes of pregnancy taught me exactly what it looks and feels like.

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