The Forsaken Wife Chinese Drama

ROOSEVELT'S POV

The rich smell of rosemary and sizzling butter filled the dining room, but I couldn't bring myself to take a bite. My focus was entirely on the man sitting across from me, Zyran.

The soft light from the chandelier reflected off his raven-black hair, perfectly styled even after a long day at work. He had taken off his suit jacket, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, veined forearms that flexed slightly as he cut into his steak. He looked like a masterpiece crafted by a god, sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and lips that typically formed a firm line.

He was breathtaking, he was powerful and he was mine.

Today was our fourth wedding anniversary. Usually, Zyran would have his assistant send a gift, a diamond necklace or a designer bag, and we would go about our separate lives. But this year, I had asked for something different. I wanted time. Just a cozy dinner at home, cooked by me.

Despite his busy schedule running an empire that covered half the globe, Zyran had actually agreed. He came home early. That small gesture made my heart flutter like a trapped bird.

I chose to sit directly across from him instead of at the head of the table. I wanted to see every change in his expression, every flicker in those dark, guarded eyes when I finally shared the news that threatened to burst out.

My hand moved subconsciously to my flat stomach beneath the silk of my dress.

I'm pregnant.

I found out just this morning. The two pink lines on the test felt like the answer to every prayer I had whispered in the dark for the last four years. Zyran was distant, yes. He was cold, and sometimes looking at him felt like staring at a beautiful ice sculpture that I couldn't touch. But a baby? A baby changes everything. A child would be the bridge to finally reach his heart, the warmth that could melt his icy exterior.

"You're staring, Roosevelt," Zyran's deep voice broke through my thoughts, surprising me.

I blinked rapidly, feeling warmth rise to my cheeks. I hadn't realized I was zoning out.

"I... I was just happy," I stammered, picking up my wine glass to occupy my trembling hands. I took a sip of water instead of the wine, reminding myself that I had to avoid alcohol now. "It's nice to have you here. Just us."

Zyran didn't look up right away. He took another bite of the meal I had spent three hours preparing-pan-seared wagyu with a truffle reduction. I held my breath. I wasn't a professional chef, I was an interior designer. I spent my days arranging furniture, not sweating over a hot stove. But tonight, I wanted everything to be perfect.

He chewed slowly, swallowed, and finally lifted his gaze to meet mine.

"The steak is excellent," he said calmly. "Better than the chef at that fancy bistro we went to last month."

My heart did a somersault. A compliment? From Zyran? That was as rare as a snowstorm in July.

"Really?" I gasped, a wide smile spreading across my face. "I tried a new recipe. I know how picky you are about the texture, so I made sure not to overcook it."

"It's perfect," he said, and for a brief moment, the hard lines around his eyes seemed to soften. "You have a talent for detail, Roosevelt. Whether it's designing a room or plating a meal, you always put in effort."

The way he said effort made it sound like the highest praise.

"Thank you, Zyran. That means a lot coming from you," I said softly, my voice thick with emotion.

He swirled the red wine in his glass, his eyes following the crimson liquid. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble, though. I would have been fine with takeout if it meant you didn't wear yourself out. You look... pale."

He noticed?

Excitement bubbled in my throat. This was it. The perfect opening, he was being attentive, complimenting me, and worried about my health. The atmosphere was just right.

I set my fork down and clasped my hands together on the table, leaning in slightly.

"Actually, Zyran, there's a reason I wanted tonight to be special," I started, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. "There's something I've been dying to tell you."

Zyran paused, his glass halfway to his lips. He set it down slowly, his dark eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Oh? Is it about your design firm? Did you land that contract with the Hilton group?"

"No, it's not work," I said, shaking my head. A nervous laugh escaped me. "It's about us. About our family."

I reached for my purse, sitting on the floor beside my chair, my fingers brushing against the small box that held the positive pregnancy test.

"Zyran," I whispered, my eyes shining with unshed tears of joy. "I know we haven't always been the most conventional couple. I know you like your space and your order. But... I think things are about to get a little chaotic, in the best way."

I pulled the box out and placed it on the table, sliding it gently toward him.

"Happy Anniversary, Zyran."

He looked at the velvet box, then back at me. His expression was unreadable, that familiar mask slipping back into place. He reached out, his long fingers hovering over the lid.

I held my breath, imagining the smile that would light up his face. I pictured him standing up, coming over to my side of the table, and pulling me into his arms. I imagined him placing a hand on my stomach and finally, finally telling me he loved me.

But just as his fingers touched the box, the loud, intrusive ringtone of his phone shattered the silence.

Zyran froze.

It was his personal cell phone. Only a handful of people had that number.

"Ignore it," I whispered urgently, a sudden dread pooling in my stomach. "Please, Zyran. Just open the box first."

But the spell was broken. Zyran frowned, glancing at the screen. His eyes widened, a reaction so raw and shocked that it terrified me more than his anger ever could.

He didn't open the box. He grabbed the phone, answering it before I could say another word.

"Hello?" he said, his voice urgent.

I didn't know who was on the other end, but I watched color drain from my husband's face. The warmth that had been there moments ago evaporated, replaced by a frantic intensity I had never seen aimed at me.

"Where are you?" he demanded into the phone, standing up so suddenly that his chair scraped against the floorboards. "Stay there. Don't move, I'm coming."

He hung up and looked at me, but it was as if he wasn't really seeing me. He was looking through me.

"Zyran?" I asked, my voice shaking. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I have to go," he said, already moving toward the door, grabbing his jacket.