False Pregnancy, True Love

My period was a month late. The handsome doctor across from me asked, Have you been with any other men? Besides me.
I flew into a rage. Who the hell do you think you are?
He raised an eyebrow. Your husband. Don't you recognize me?

1
I had just gotten back from a business trip and took a day off to see a doctor.
My period was a month overdue.
I sat in the exam room, facing a male doctor who was busy writing at his desk. Sunlight, filtered through the lush green leaves outside, fell across his minimalist white coat. Paired with a crisp, wrinkle-free shirt and tie, he radiated a cool, ascetic aura.
The room was silent.
He sat before the computer, his tall frame blocking the light from the window, casting his broad shoulders and narrow waist in a striking silhouette.
"So, what seems to be the problem?" he asked, his head still bowed, his tone clinically detached.
I tore my gaze away from his hands, straightened my back, and forced myself to speak. "Um, I haven't had my period in a month, and I've been having some cramping… It's not… some kind of gynecological issue, is it?"
He glanced up at me from over the top of his glasses. His sharp, handsome features were framed by the lenses, a strong nose above thin, tightly pressed lips. He seemed distinctly unimpressed with me, his unfortunate patient.
"Have you been with any other men? Besides me."
It took me a second to process it. This impeccably dressed doctor was hitting on me.
I mean, there are a million ways to flirt, but using your professional position to harass a married woman? Seriously sleazy.
A wave of humiliation and anger washed over me. "Who the hell are you? Is that how you talk to a patient?"
The tip of his pen froze. He pushed his glasses up his nose, finally looking at me directly. "Your husband," he said, his voice calm and steady. "You don't recognize me?"
I shot to my feet, grabbing my purse, my face burning. "I have a husband! Don't you dare say things like that!"
I had just gotten my marriage license a month ago.
He capped his pen, leaned back in his swivel chair with his arms crossed, and studied me with a placid expression. His gaze was unnervingly direct, with a hint of amusement, as if he were enjoying a private show.
My bravado faltered. "You'd better watch it, or… or I'll… I'll report you—"
The words died in my throat. My eyes had fallen on a framed photo on the corner of his desk.
It was an enlarged wedding photo.
In it, I was beaming, my smile as bright as a sunflower. And next to me, looking stern and unsmiling, was this very same doctor.
Holy. Crap.
I had completely, utterly forgotten the man I had whirlwind-married a month ago.

2
The whole marriage thing had been incredibly sudden.
I'm a moderately successful romance comic artist. I'm signed with an agency and spend most of my time traveling the world for inspiration.
Getting married was my parents' idea.
All I remembered was that my husband worked at a hospital, was four years my senior, and had a good, family-oriented personality. My parents have always had impeccable judgment, so I closed my eyes and signed the papers.
The day after we registered, I left for a month-long research trip to another province. We hadn't even had a wedding reception yet.
Now, a dead silence filled the exam room.
Across from me sat the man I had so heartlessly abandoned.
I clasped my hands in front of me like a guilty schoolgirl, my voice barely a whisper. "Honey…"
So, he was a gynecologist.
If I had known he worked at this hospital, I would have just called him. This whole screw-up was mortifying.
Had I been staring at him earlier? God, he probably thought I was the kind of person who just gawks at handsome strangers on the street.
Rupert Potter's gaze was intense, as if he was waiting for an explanation.
Just then, the door burst open as a security guard rushed in. "Dr. Potter, who's filing a complaint?"
Rupert's expression was a delicate mix of amusement and challenge. He looked at me as if to say, Well? You wanted to report me? Go ahead.
Oh, God. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I covered my face, bowed to the stunned security guard, and mumbled, "I'm so sorry, he's… he's my husband. I didn't recognize him."

3
By the time we left the hospital, it was nearly dusk.
He had walked me through a full check-up and was now striding ahead of me, carrying my suitcase.
My mom, having heard the whole sordid tale, was laying into me over the phone.
"You abandon your new husband for a business trip right after getting married? You might as well be single! All you do is work, work, work! What good is all that money? Do you think a baby is just going to pop out of a rock?"
I shot a guilty glance at Rupert and cupped my hand over the receiver. "Mom, stop yelling, you're making me nervous!"
"He's your husband! What's there to be nervous about? Be proactive tonight. I want a grandchild by the end of the year."
It wasn't that I was opposed to having kids, but first, the man had to actually forgive me. A month-long trip, a threat to report him upon my return, and then I was supposed to make a move on him that very night? What kind of shameless hussy did that make me?
Besides, a guy with a 100% head-turning rate like him was probably just using me as a shield against other women. There was no way he actually wanted to live under the same roof with me.
Suddenly, Rupert turned to me. "What do you want to eat?"
I was so startled I slammed the end-call button on my mom. "I want to go home," I answered meekly. "And eat your cooking."
The moment the words were out, I wanted to bite my tongue off. What kind of relationship did we even have? Whose home? Whose cooking?
A flicker of surprise crossed Rupert's eyes, followed by a smile he couldn't quite contain. "Alright. Get in the car."
The apartment was Rupert's; I had never even seen it before.
It was rush hour, and traffic was starting to build. Rupert stared at the sea of cars ahead, showing no intention of making conversation.
Just then, my phone buzzed with a text from my editor.
"Josie, the competition's promo just dropped. You need to step it up. I need the cover art tonight. We are not losing to them."
My name is Josephine, but my pen name is Josie. I'm known for my bold, risqué art style, which has earned me a sizable fanbase. My 2D heartthrobs are famous worldwide.
I sighed and texted back, "Boss, I've got zero inspiration for the male lead… I don't want all my characters to look the same."
A few seconds later, a voice message came through. I hit play without thinking.
My editor's signature gravelly voice filled the car. "Use your husband as material! Observe, learn, and deliver for your fans. Didn't you used to joke that if you ever got married, you'd mine your husband for every last drop of creative—and financial—worth?"
I frantically jabbed at the screen, but the phone seemed frozen. The message played out in its entirety. And just as it ended, the cacophony of car horns outside seemed to cease by collective agreement.
The silence in the car was deafening.
Like a wooden puppet, I slowly, stiffly turned my head.
Rupert's glasses were perched loosely on his nose, his profile sharp and refined against the setting sun. His long index finger tapped a light, rhythmic beat on the steering wheel. He stared at the traffic ahead, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
It was a smirk.
He hadn't just heard it; he had understood every word.
A hot flush of shame spread across my face, seeming to fill the entire car.
Rupert suddenly tugged at his tie, loosening the top button of his shirt to reveal the handsome hollows of his collarbones and the elegant line of his neck.
The air in the car suddenly felt thick and hot. My mouth was dry. The last rays of the sunset fell on my black dress, creating a strange, prickling heat.
"Seen enough?"
His polite smile snapped me out of my daze.
I blinked and stammered, "I'm a comic artist…"
"Mm, I know." His tone was flat. The simple platinum ring I had picked out for him at random gleamed on his finger. My own hand was bare. I think I’d taken mine off at some point, complaining it was too tight.
In the suffocating silence, I turned to him, desperate to explain. "My male leads are purely from my imagination. I never use real people as models…"
He cleared his throat and looked away. "Mm, I've seen them. The anatomy is… impeccable."
The words caught in my throat. I wanted to die.
By "anatomy," he was probably referring to the legions of long-legged, muscle-bound men wearing nothing but pants.
Though Rupert's expression remained neutral, I could detect an undercurrent of amusement and resignation.
He was laughing at me again.
Weren't doctors supposed to be busy? What was he doing reading romance comics and analyzing their "anatomy"?
I decided to shut up. I counted the seconds in my head, an agonizingly long wait, until the car finally broke free from the traffic and pulled into a high-end residential complex. Lush trees and beautiful landscaping surrounded us, a fountain splashing in the distance.
I got out of the car, but the gentle evening breeze did nothing to cool the chill in my heart.
I followed behind Rupert, each step feeling like I was walking on eggshells.
Sure, he was an attractive man. Highly educated, from a good family. But I'd been single for years, and this was the first time I was spending the night at a strange man's house.
Except it was a legal sleepover.
What was I supposed to do? Pounce on him and give my mom that grandchild she wanted? Pin him against the wall the second we got inside?
I trailed behind the tall figure of my husband, my mind racing.
His apartment was on the second floor. As he opened the door, the living room lights flicked on automatically. Rupert bent down and pulled a pair of delicate women's slippers from the shoe cabinet.
Even in that simple motion, he was more stunning than any of the heroes in my comics. His physique was, for lack of a better word, perfect.
Inspiration struck.
Seeing me frozen in the doorway, Rupert effortlessly lifted my suitcase inside. The apartment was immaculately clean, a perfect reflection of his personality: efficient and minimalist.
I mentally calculated the odds of successfully overpowering him. The height difference was… significant. Probably not a good idea.
"There's a spare set of keys on the right. They're yours," he said, before walking further into the apartment.
The image of the stunning curve of his back as he bent over was seared into my brain. I kicked off my shoes, grabbed my suitcase, and made a beeline for the study, closing the door behind me.
Through the study's glass wall, I could see Rupert in the spacious, brightly lit kitchen. The setting sun cast a reddish glow on his white shirt. His forearms, firm and defined, were busy at the sink. The silver frames of his glasses added a touch of ascetic beauty.
I couldn't help but think of one of my character archetypes. The cool, aloof doctor with the suit and the great ass. Long legs, lean but muscular.
And my editor's words: "Draw him bigger."
I slumped into the chair, printed out my key points, and taped them to my monitor—a reminder that my goal was to cater to popular demand.
The face… I'll just use Rupert's. He was handsome, after all, and the "coolly ascetic" type was very in right now.
His legs were definitely long enough to meet my fans' standards.
As for the abs… well, I hadn't seen them. I'd just have to draw them from experience.
So, relying on my imagination, I created a rather tempting physique for my character. A firm, trim waistline, a rounded, perky backside, suit pants revealing a sliver of black sock, and shiny leather shoes…
And, of course, a form-fitting white doctor's coat.
In the initial sketch, the cool, aloof man sat in an executive chair, legs crossed lazily, his eyes cold and distant.
I smiled in satisfaction, took a screenshot, and sent it to my editor with a thoughtful note: Boss, should I make the butt perkier? It would make the waistline look even more alluring.
I waited for about five minutes. No reply. I opened my tired eyes and checked the chat window.
Huh?
Where was the picture?
My conversation with my editor was still on his last message, nagging me about the deadline.
A roaring sound filled my ears. I shuddered.
Oh, God. Who did I send it to?
Please don't let it be my parents. I still wanted to be a respectable human being.
I scrolled frantically through my chats. And there it was. In my conversation with Rupert. The meticulously designed character art.
And that… eager request for feedback.
No, no, no, no! What have I done?!
The study door flew open. I burst out, my hair a mess, praying that Rupert was still busy in the kitchen and hadn't seen his phone.
But the scene that greeted me was this:
The dining table was set with four steaming dishes and a soup. Rupert, wearing an apron over his rolled-up shirt sleeves, was leaning against the table, holding his phone. His long fingers were slowly swiping across the screen.
Reflected in his glasses was the bold artwork of a… coolly ascetic doctor.
Thump.
That was the sound of my heart stopping.
He seemed to be typing. A moment later, my phone pinged. A reply from Rupert: Approved.
Approved what?
The perkier butt?
Rupert slowly lifted his head, his expression unreadable. "Weren't you hungry? Come and eat."
I don't know how I made it to the table. I moved like a ghost, sitting down and staring at my plate, too mortified to look at him. But even without meeting his eyes, I could feel his dark, intense gaze on me.
I'm so dead.
I had just claimed my work was pure imagination, and he catches me using him as a direct model. How could I possibly explain this?
"I wouldn't mind if you took the measurements yourself."
I was in the middle of sipping my soup. Rupert's sudden comment made me choke, coughing until tears streamed from my eyes. I clapped a hand over my mouth, my entire body turning the color of a boiled shrimp.
Was he serious?
Rupert slid his phone across the table to me, his gaze sharp and precise. "If you're going to use me as your model, you should at least respect the facts."
His fingertip tapped on the chest muscles visible between the two unbuttoned buttons of the character's shirt.
I let out a sigh of relief and managed a weak laugh. "Right!"

4
After dinner, Rupert was in the kitchen washing dishes.
I tiptoed into the bedroom, planning to take a quick shower before he was done. But my hand fumbled along the wall for a good while, and I couldn't find the light switch.
Was this place that high-tech? Voice-controlled, maybe? I probably didn't have the authorization.
The room was pitch black. I was about to back out when Rupert's voice came from right behind me. "Why aren't you going in?"
His warm breath tickled the back of my neck, making the fine hairs stand on end.
I flinched and spun around.
A few drops of water had splashed onto Rupert's shirt, making the fabric cling to his chest. He was a full head taller than me, and when he looked down, there was a subtle sense of pressure.
I was instantly consumed by the guilt of a trespasser caught in the act. "I'm sorry," I stammered, "I must have the wrong—"
"You don't." Rupert stopped me from closing the door. He pushed it back open, backing me into the bedroom step by step.
His tall frame blocked the light from the living room, and darkness enveloped us. With my sight diminished, my other senses were heightened. He was close, his presence quickly overwhelming me. I buried my head like an ostrich, too scared to say a word.
"Go get changed." For a second, I had the distinct impression he was about to kiss me.
My face grew hot. "My clothes are… in my suitcase—"
"There are some in the closet too. Go get them."
Rupert didn't move, effectively trapping me in the bedroom. With no way out, I had to feel my way to the closet in the dark. I pulled open a random drawer and reached inside.
Soft. Silky…
Did I own anything made of this material? It was so thin.
Rupert leaned against the doorway, his voice nonchalant. "That's my drawer."
I suddenly realized what the cool, silky fabric in my hand was. I snatched my hand back as if I’d been electrocuted, my ears burning. "I'm sorry…"
Rupert let out a soft, dry chuckle. He didn't turn on the light, just leaned there, enjoying my predicament.
He was definitely getting his revenge.
I opened the drawer next to it, grabbed a few items of clothing, and fled into the bathroom.
It seemed he had prepared for my arrival. Shampoo, conditioner, body lotion—everything was there. Toothbrushes and towels came in a matching couple's set.
I tried to wash away the heat with the shower, but the more I washed, the hotter I felt. Finally, I resigned myself to my fate, dried my hair, and prepared to face the world.
When I unfolded the clothes, I saw it was a large men's dress shirt. Droplets of water from my hair had already soaked a large patch of it. And what I had mistaken for underwear was… a pair of black stockings.
"..."
Water and a white shirt. A combination guaranteed to spark the imagination.
I, Josie, had never been this humiliated in my entire life.
I hid in the bathroom and sent a desperate text to my best friend.
Her reply: "LMAOOOO are you insane? You want me to drive across town to rescue you from your own bathroom?"
I slumped against the door, wearing Rupert's damp shirt and clutching the stockings. "If you don't come, I'm going to die."
"What's there to be shy about in front of your husband? Just wear it. I promise you'll be fine."
I smacked my forehead in despair. "I can't…"
"Can't what? Can't pounce on him?"
"Josie, when you were 23, you made a plan to have a baby by 26. Your 27th birthday is in exactly 10 months. The stars have aligned. The time is now. If you don't make a move, what do you expect me to do, tie him up and deliver him to your bed?"
I'm a pushover. Easily swayed. Her words ignited a sense of mission in me.
I'm 26. Is it so wrong to want a baby? And anyway, we were legally married. What was wrong with being a little bold?
I pushed open the steamy bathroom door. The living room was dimly lit by a single wall lamp.
And then, all my carefully constructed bravado vanished.
Images of countless romance comic heroines flashed through my mind, followed by a series of blush-inducing, pixelated scenes.
I regretted everything. I couldn't do it.
I made a mad dash for the bedroom. Just as I reached the door, I collided with someone.
The faint, clean scent of antiseptic enveloped me.
"What's the rush?"
His deep, husky voice melted into the darkness, the warm, yellow light casting an ambiguous glow.
It was like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. My pulse skyrocketed.
"Are you hot? Isn't my shirt cool enough?" His voice was right next to my ear, his warm breath swirling in the shell of it. "Or is it because you're wearing one too many layers?"
I struggled, but couldn't break free. My thoughts were sluggish. "I was wrong… please, just let me go…" I managed to squeeze out the words, my body trembling with each of his breaths.
He was definitely seducing me.
"Dr. Potter, save me, I'm losing all my strength…"
He chuckled. "We're just getting started. You're not very resilient, are you?"
My forehead rested against his shoulder; I couldn't support myself anymore. Rupert's arm suddenly tightened around me, lifting me off the ground.
The moment my back touched the soft bed, his fiery kiss followed.
In my mind's eye, I could see my best friend giving me a thumbs-up from afar.
Fireworks exploded in my brain.
Faced with his playful teasing, I surrendered completely.

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