Chapter 13
There was a kind of comfort that only food could provide—especially after enduring the daily torment of pregnancy nausea. For Milim, the warm, fragrant dishes laid out before her felt like a balm to her weary body. The stew was gentle on her stomach, and for the first time in days, she could eat without fear of vomiting. She almost forgot her surroundings in her appreciation, allowing herself to lower her guard as she picked up bite after bite with gratitude.
It wasn't until she was halfway through her bowl of rice that she noticed something odd: Dylan hadn't touched his food.
Glancing up, Milim found him calmly watching her, his chopsticks untouched by the array of dishes spread across the table. There was more than enough food for three people, and the sight of his untouched plate made her suddenly self-conscious.
"Mister Dylan, aren't you hungry?" she asked timidly.
He met her gaze without expression, his movements smooth as he finally picked up his chopsticks. "I am," he replied, then began to eat with effortless grace.
His posture was refined, his motions practiced. Not a single crumb fell as he ate—efficiently but without any sense of hurry. Seeing this, Milim quietly lowered her gaze and focused on finishing her meal in silence. Before she realized it, she had emptied her bowl and finished nearly half a cup of soup.
"Mister Dylan, I'm done. Please take your time," she murmured, placing her chopsticks down.
He gave her a sidelong glance but said nothing, simply increasing the pace of his eating until he, too, laid down his utensils. He then picked up a napkin and, with precise motions, wiped his mouth and hands.
"Are you really full?" he asked, his eyes scanning her small frame as though trying to gauge the truth in her words.
Milim nodded quickly. "Yes, really full. I know it's just one bowl of rice, but I ate a lot of the dishes."
"You may eat some fruit," Dylan said, casting his gaze toward a nearby plate.
Milim followed his line of sight and saw a colorful assortment of fresh, imported fruit—cherries, blueberries, and mangosteen, all plump and vibrant. Tentatively, she popped two cherries and a couple of blueberries into her mouth. The taste was heavenly, bursting with flavor unlike anything sold in the local market. Still, she restrained herself and didn't reach for more.
The moment of satisfaction was short-lived. As she became aware once again of the man's constant, unreadable gaze, embarrassment flushed her cheeks. Was he staring on purpose? Or was he simply lost in thought?
She averted her eyes and tried to appear nonchalant, picking at the final blueberry on her plate. Dylan's voice, smooth as ever, cut into the silence.
"Is there anything uncomfortable?"
She shook her head. "No… It's just that… I get really sleepy after I eat. And sitting in this chair is so comfortable—I kind of don't want to move."
Dylan paused briefly, then signaled the waiter for the bill. After taking a sip of water, he stood and announced, "We're going to the hospital."
Milim's drowsy eyes sprang open. "Oh—alright." She nodded, standing quickly and moving carefully to the edge of her chair. She waited for Dylan to walk ahead, but surprisingly, he remained where he was, his eyes fixed on her with a calm, unreadable expression.
He was… waiting for her?
Startled by the unexpected gesture, Milim stepped forward, feeling his gaze trail behind her like a steady hand on her back. It made her cheeks burn. Is he worried I'll trip? she wondered.
Inside the elevator, Dylan stepped in first. The crowded space somehow parted around him, a quiet pressure pushing others aside. He stood behind Milim protectively, shielding her from the bustling crowd.
It was just before noon. Sunlight drenched the city in golden heat, and the temperature had noticeably risen. As they exited the building, Dylan stopped abruptly.
"Wait here," he said.
Before she could even ask what he meant, he was already striding away under the sweltering sun. Confused, she turned—and realization dawned as a car slowed in front of her. Dylan had gone to bring the car around.
He exited the driver's seat and opened the rear door. It wasn't typical for someone to sit in the back when only two people were in a car—it might seem disrespectful. But the back seat was undeniably safer.
After she slid in, Dylan closed the door for her with quiet care, then returned to the driver's seat, slipped on a Bluetooth earpiece, and made a call.
"Hello, Dylan?" came a voice on the other end. It was Asher.
"I'm bringing someone in for a pregnancy test. Arrange everything," Dylan said without preamble.
There was a long pause on the other end. Then a sharp sputter. "What?!"
Asher, who had just taken a sip of water during his hospital rounds, sprayed it all over his desk. "You're kidding me! You could've warned me, man. Mental preparation counts for something!"
"This isn't up for discussion. You'll do it yourself. I can't trust anyone else," Dylan said, voice firm.
Asher's tone sobered instantly. "Okay, okay. I get it. Come straight to my office."
Dylan ended the call and checked the rearview mirror again. Milim had fallen asleep. Her breathing was slow and even, lips slightly parted in slumber.
He slowed the car to 30 km/h—something utterly foreign to his usual driving. He hadn't driven this carefully in ten years, not even with the most expensive cars. But now… now there was something infinitely more fragile inside his vehicle.
She stirred only once, then settled into a deeper sleep.
When they finally arrived, Dylan parked and turned to wake her. Her soft snores filled the quiet space.
He frowned, then leaned closer and tapped her shoulder.
"Get up. We're here."
No response.
He tried again—firmer this time.
Only on the third try did Milim flutter her eyes open. "Sorry… I must've dozed off," she murmured, quickly rubbing her eyes and climbing out of the car.
To her surprise, Dylan offered his hand to steady her. Stunned, she accepted. "Thank you," she whispered.
They stood outside a prestigious tertiary hospital. Milim, still half-asleep, barely had time to think before Dylan placed a gentle but guiding hand on her arm and led her through the entrance. No registration was needed. She was escorted straight to Asher's private office.
Dylan marched ahead and kicked Asher's chair. "Get up."
Asher, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses, glanced up—and froze.
Milim?
Wasn't this the girl Dylan was desperately flirting with that night…? Asher's eyes widened, and a slow, teasing grin formed.
"Well, well… Didn't expect to see you again. So, what happened? Couldn't resist her charm after all?"
"Shut up," Dylan muttered and pulled the empty chair over for Milim.
She sat with stiff awkwardness. Meanwhile, Asher's curiosity only grew.
"You said you were bringing someone in for a pregnancy test," he said, pointing at Milim. "You mean… her?"
Dylan didn't respond. Instead, he pulled out a folded paper—the blood test report—and handed it over.
Asher read the first line. His entire body froze.
His scalp tingled. His throat went dry. "No way…"
"Yes," Dylan replied quietly, reclaiming the paper from his stunned friend.
"Alright. I'll run a quick blood test to confirm. Results should be out in ten minutes," Asher said, slipping easily into professional mode. He turned to Milim with a kind smile. "Let's get started."
As Dylan moved to follow, Asher held up a hand. "You go register. If this is real, you'll be back here a lot. You can't expect me to let you skip the process every time."
When Dylan hesitated, Asher added with a smirk, "What? You afraid I'll steal her?"
Dylan said nothing, but his icy glare spoke volumes. He turned to Milim. "Give me your ID."
She handed it over without a word, her mind heavy with conflicting emotions. She consoled herself with quiet resolve. Just endure. For the baby's sake. Just for a year…
As Dylan left the room, Asher watched him go, then turned back to Milim, eyes filled with complicated emotion.
Even if she cannot enter the maverick family in the end, it will not change the fact that she gave birth to a baby for the maverick family.