Marriage with my daughter's father: Darling please be gentle - Chapter 189

Chapter 189: Chapter 189: That’s not what I asked
Winter stepped out of her car, careful not to draw attention as she slowly approached Eric. She waited until the man who handed him the bag disappeared down the street before closing the distance.

She didn’t plan to make contact—at least not directly—but fate had other ideas.

Eric turned too suddenly, bumping into her with enough force to send her stumbling backward.

“Ouch! Watch where you’re going—” he started, only to freeze the moment he recognized her.

“Winter?” he breathed in disbelief, instinctively reaching down to help her up.

She was supposed to be at Greyson. What the hell is she doing here?

Winter lay sprawled on the pavement, groaning with exaggerated frustration. “Of all the damn people—why is it always your stupid face I run into?” she snapped, scowling as Eric knelt beside her.

Eric tried to help, completely unaware that Winter’s hand was already slipping into the side of the bag resting against his thigh. Her fingers brushed the edge of the glass bottle inside, and with a swift move honed by desperation and spite, she slid it into her coat pocket.

“Are you okay?” Eric asked, still processing her presence.

Winter didn’t miss a beat. “No, I’m not okay! You always end up hurting me! First emotionally, now physically—what’s next, vehicular manslaughter?”

Eric sighed, exasperated but still trying to play nice. “Weren’t you with your grandfather? At Greyson International? What are you doing here?”

He helped her up, suspicion lacing his voice.

Winter narrowed her eyes at him, brushing dust off her coat. “Do you own this road now, too? Should I start asking for your permission to breathe?” She snapped. “I could swear you’re the one crossing my path, Eric.”

He pursed his lips, forcing patience. “I didn’t follow you. I came to meet someone—”

He stopped mid-sentence, realizing he’d nearly said too much.

Winter caught it instantly. Her brow arched. “You came to meet who, Eric?”

But he quickly backpedaled. “Look, I don’t owe you an explanation. Just like you don’t owe me one. You’re free to go wherever you want.”

“And I don’t need your permission,” Winter retorted coldly. “So save your excuses for someone who still cares.”

Eric knew there was no winning this. She wasn’t just angry—she was done.

“Fine. Let’s not argue,” he muttered. “You fell pretty hard. Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“I’d rather die than go anywhere with you,” Winter said sharply, brushing past him and heading straight to her car.

Eric stood there, stunned, watching her slam the door and drive off without so much as a backward glance.

He exhaled heavily, muttering to himself. “What the hell is her problem today…”

But then his eyes dropped to the bag still on the ground.

He quickly picked it up, checking the contents. One bottle and that too destroyed.

He cursed under his breath. “I told that idiot to bring me two. What the hell is this?”

Frustrated, Eric stormed off toward his car, unaware that the real problem wasn’t with his delivery—it was with what he’d just lost.

Not far away, hidden behind a tree, a man silently clicked photos of the entire exchange.

A hired spy. Diana’s spy.

He zoomed in, capturing every frame—Eric handing Winter his hand, the bag beside them, and her walking away in anger. To a casual observer, it might’ve looked like a lovers’ quarrel.

The spy sent the images immediately.

Back at her office, Diana leaned back in her chair, her lips curving into a satisfied smirk as she swiped through the photos.

“They’re always together,” she muttered, eyes narrowing.

Then she forwarded the photos—to Agnes with no caption.

The images spoke for themselves.

And the chaos they would unleash was exactly what Diana wanted.

***

Agnes had just stepped back into the grand halls of Greyson Mansion, her heels clicking sharply on the marble floor, when her phone buzzed. She paused near the staircase, frowning as the notification banner slid across the screen.

Multiple messages.

But before she could tap them open, a familiar voice sliced through the air behind her.

“Where are you coming from, Agnes?” Dorothy’s tone was calm—eerily calm but carried a weight that made Agnes freeze.

Panic flared in her chest.

Think fast.

“I—I told you yesterday, remember?” Agnes stammered, turning around with a forced smile. “I had a checkup. I just came back from the hospital.”

Dorothy stared at her daughter with an unreadable expression, her gaze as cold and sharp as glass. “I’m going to ask you this once, and only once,” she said flatly. “Was that checkup because of food poisoning… or is there something else you’re hiding?”

Agnes’s throat went dry. Her mother had never been the type to ask a question without already knowing the answer. The way she looked at her now, Agnes felt like a rabbit under a hawk’s shadow.

She opened her mouth to respond, but her phone buzzed again—twice.

Annoyed, she glanced down and unlocked it, more out of reflex than curiosity.

[Aren’t you going to say anything, Agnes?]

[You still think Eric won’t leave you?]

Agnes’s brows furrowed as dread coiled in her stomach. She scrolled further and stopped dead in her tracks.

Photos. Sent from Diana.

Winter and Eric. Together.

Winter crouched on the pavement. Eric kneeling beside her. A bag between them. Another frame showed Winter walking away, Eric looking after her.

To anyone else, it looked like an intimate moment. To Agnes, it was betrayal captured in high definition.

Her hands shook as she gripped the phone tighter. “I swear on my child,” she hissed, voice trembling with rage, “I will kill Winter.”

The fury blinded her for a moment, but then she remembered—Dorothy.

She looked up, heart lurching.

Dorothy hadn’t moved. She was still watching Agnes with that same cold, assessing gaze. Only now, her brow was slightly raised… as if every piece had just clicked into place.

“You’re pregnant,” Dorothy said quietly.

Agnes’s eyes widened. “No—I—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

The air in the mansion felt heavier. Agnes could hear the ticking of the antique clock in the hall, like a countdown to judgment.

“You went for a checkup. You’re reacting like a jealous wife. And now you’ve sworn on a child.”

Dorothy stepped closer.

“You’re carrying Eric’s baby, aren’t you?”

Agnes’s lips parted, but nothing came out.

Dorothy had already uncovered the truth—Agnes was pregnant. But she wanted to hear it directly from her daughter’s mouth, to truly understand what game she was playing.

“Tell me,” Dorothy snapped, her voice cutting through the room like a blade.

Agnes flinched, startled, but the momentary fear quickly morphed into fury.

“So what if I am?” she spat. “We’re getting married anyway!”

Dorothy’s expression turned grim. She crossed her arms, her gaze sharp and unyielding.

“And does Eric know that?” she asked, her tone laced with quiet accusation.

Agnes faltered, her confidence visibly shaken.

“W-Why wouldn’t he? It’s his child,” she stammered.

Dorothy arched a brow, unimpressed. “That’s not what I asked. I said—does he approve? Or is this just your assumption?”

Agnes opened her mouth, then closed it again, clearly searching for words that didn’t exist.

“He will,” she muttered.

Dorothy’s stare didn’t waver as she clearly saw through Agnes’s lies and grabbed her phone to see what’s inside.

“Now I understand why you kept this from us,” Dorothy revealed, leaving Agnes feeling anxious, though she was still seething with anger in the back of her mind.