Undressed By His Arrogance-Chapter 297: What’s That Sound?

"Hmmm hmm." Irene hummed softly.

"What’s that sound?" Ivy raised a brow, turning slightly, suspicion already blooming in her chest. She knew Irene well enough to recognize that hum. It was never random.

"What sound?" Irene replied innocently.

"The one you just made," Ivy pressed, folding her arms tighter, her weight shifting from one foot to the other.

Irene shrugged, finally turning to face her fully. "When was your last period, Ivy?"

"What’s that—" Ivy began automatically, then froze mid-sentence. Her mind started flipping through mental calendars, memories blurring together in a haze of shootings, travel, stress. "I... last month, I think. Uh..."

"Before or after Canada?" Irene asked gently.

Ivy inhaled a shaky breath, her chest tightening. She swallowed. "Before," she whispered softly, as if saying it louder might make it real too fast.

Irene tilted her head. "You see where I am going with this?"

"No... I mean yes. But... it can’t be. I can’t be," Ivy said quickly, shaking her head, denial rushing out before she could stop it. Her hand came to rest unconsciously over her stomach, fingers splayed as if to physically hold the thought at bay. Images flashed through her mind—Winn’s face, the chaos surrounding them, the danger, the secrecy.

Love, fierce and undeniable, tangled tightly with fear.

"It takes two minutes to confirm," Irene said calmly. "I have a couple of tests in the medicine cabinet in our bathroom. Go take one."

Ivy hesitated, her feet rooted to the kitchen floor. Did she want an answer right now? Did she want to know before everything exploded around Winn again? Her heart pounded, loud in her ears. But avoiding the truth had never really worked for her. She turned and headed out of the kitchen anyway, each step heavier than the last.

Evans appeared in the doorway just then, hair slightly mussed, eyes wide with mock desperation. "Ri... you have to make Theresa stop! I’m going crazy." He gestured wildly back toward the living room, where the unmistakable Baby Shark chorus continued its relentless reign.

"Stop what?" Irene asked sweetly.

"Baby shark!!!" Evans practically wailed, dragging out the words as if naming a curse.

Irene laughed as she turned off the heat now that the popping had stopped. "You only suffer through it for a couple of minutes," she said, lifting the pot and giving it a gentle shake. "Be a big boy."

"I am being a big boy," Evans snapped, hands thrown up in surrender. "Big boys watch porn, not Baby Shark." He emphasized the last two words as if the song had sought him out just to ruin his evening.

Irene groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Oh my God, Evans. Let her have her fun. It’s almost her bedtime anyway." She shot him a warning look while calmly transferring the popcorn into a large bowl.

Evans stalked to the refrigerator, yanking it open with unnecessary force. He grabbed a bottle of water and twisted the cap off aggressively. He took a long drink, finally exhaling. "Where is Ivy?" he asked.

"In the bathroom," Irene replied casually. "Taking a test."

"What test?"

Irene didn’t even look at him. "Pregnancy test." She shrugged, deliberately calm, because she knew her husband. There were only two settings coming next—explosion or meltdown—and neither would be subtle.

"What the fuck?!" Evans gasped. His eyes went wide, darting toward the hallway. "What the hell?!"

Predictable as always, Irene rolled her eyes. "Breathe," she said dryly. "You’re turning purple."

"How—how the hell did that happen?" Evans growled, already pacing now, agitation radiating off him in waves. "No, don’t answer that—actually, answer that. How did that happen?"

"It’s quite simple, really," Irene replied sweetly. "She had sex. You know what sex is, right?"

Evans stopped pacing and glared at her. "You’re mean."

"You’re an idiot," Irene shot back without missing a beat. "What did you think was going to happen once both of them got together again? That they’d hold hands and sing hymns?" She snorted. "Please."

Before Evans could form a comeback, Ivy walked back into the kitchen, pale but composed. She saw both of them staring at her with identical, unblinking intensity.

"—You told him?!" Ivy whined, her shoulders sagging.

"Of course she told me. Start talking, little lady," Evans snapped, planting his hands on the counter.

"I’m pregnant," Ivy announced.

Her heart was hammering so hard she was sure they could all hear it. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind at once.

Evans’ face drained of color. "Please tell me it’s Eugene’s," he begged, hands clasping together.

Irene turned slowly and glared at her husband with a look that could have peeled paint. "You really are an idiot," she said flatly. She moved closer to Ivy. "Congratulations, dear. Truly." Her gaze sharpened just a little. "Hold this one in for as long as you can. We don’t want some people stealing your baby again."

"I’m never going to live that down, will I?" Evans groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He turned back to Ivy, eyes narrowing. "Winn’s?"

"Yeah," Ivy whispered. Saying his name made everything feel more real—and more dangerous.

Evans stared at her. "You gotta be fucking with me. Didn’t you guys learn the last time?"

"It’s not like we planned it!" Ivy shot back, heat rushing into her cheeks. "Do you think this was on a calendar somewhere?"

"It is what happens when you fuck without protection, Ivy!" Evans snarled, pacing again, agitation radiating off him.

"I’m not a child!" she snapped.

"Aren’t you?" Evans shot back, arms flung wide.

"Evans, quit it!" Irene snapped, stepping between them. "Can we get through one pregnancy happily? Just one? Is that too much to ask?"

But Evans was on a roll now, spiraling the way only he could. "Does the fucker ever shoot blanks?!" he exclaimed. "He just shoots it in there and they all click? Like some kind of billionaire fertility machine?"

"Evans!" Irene barked, mortified.

Despite everything—the fear, the tension, the uncertainty—Ivy let out a startled laugh. It bubbled up before she could stop it, shaky but real.