Chasing My Pregnant Wife

Sebastian stared at the woman before him, feeling his heart softening.

He was still a little angry at her this morning and, if he were being honest, he had flared up at his subordinates because of his bad mood.

But now, he realized that all the anger in him had dissipated. He wasn't even angry at the lost project.

Conversely, he felt content.

There were a few levels to that feeling of content.

Each level was like an empty bag that, once filled, would move on to the next level. The next level was a larger bag.

He felt like the first bag was already full, and that he had progressed to the next level.

With regard to Rosalie, he didn't ask for much. His bar was very low to start with, and he would feel content with just a smile or a tender word from her.

The knowledge that she was concerned for him instantly filled the empty bag on the first level to the brim.

The bag on the second level was opened, and it was empty. Strangely, at the same instant when the bag on the first level was filled, a greater sense of emptiness rushed in.

He was suddenly no longer content, and wanted more.

The bag on the first level was filled with her concern, and that alone made him content. The bag on the second level could only be filled with greater intimacy and closeness.

The third level was something almost unattainable, and it was what he dreamt of this morning. That was the only way that bag on the third level could ever be filled.

But he knew the logic behind more haste, less speed. That was the reason for the three distinct levels, and he would take his time to slowly work his way up.

And now, the first level was filled so effortlessly.

Upon seeing Sebastian in a daze, Rosalie, slightly anxious, said, "Am I being ridiculous? I'm not cursing you, so please don't take it that way. It was just a dream, and I'm glad to see that you're fine."

Rosalie's pure and innocent face was right before him, and she looked perfect no matter which angle he looked at her from.

Her sweet, tender voice rang in his ears, each word a beautiful melody tickling his ear and making its way into his heart.

Everything around him felt so surreal.This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

He blurted out, "Rose, I love you."

Rosalie snarled furiously, "What right do you have to love me? You know that I've just gotten a divorce, and I'm still recovering from the trauma, but you're confessing to me? You're clearly taking advantage of me! I don't ever want to see you again!"

"Sebastian? What's wrong?" Rosalie waved her hands in front of his eyes. "Are you sick?"

Sebastian was in a daze, as if his soul had left his body.

That was when he finally snapped back to reality, and realized that the exchange was merely a figment of his imagination.

No, he reminded himself. He couldn't confess to her. He almost did just now.

Had he confessed to Rosalie, even if she didn't tell him off like she did in his imagination, she would avoid him like the plague.

"Rose, thank you for your concern.

No one has ever shown such

concern for me over a dream. You're the first, and most probably the last. I'm so glad to know you and be friends with you."

The idea of being friends was good. It was right for them to maintain their current relationship as friends first.

He reminded himself not to be too anxious. One of his greatest traits was patience.

Rosalie looked into Sebastian's eyes and her heart leaped, as if it was hit by something. Anxiety flashed past her eyes, but it was gone in an instant.

That anxiety came forth from an inexplicable sense of fear. She couldn't help but recall the emoji he sent her last night after their chat, which had the words "Love you" written in it.