Chapter 78: Adjustments

I wake up already irritated.

Not because anything has actually happened yet, but because I know what the day looks like, and I can already feel how much of it I’m going to lose.

The prenatal checkup is scheduled for late morning.

Routine, necessary, not optional.

Also inconvenient.

I lie there for a few seconds staring at the ceiling, doing the math in my head without even trying to. If I leave around ten, I’ll get stuck in traffic, wait at least thirty minutes because the hospital never runs on time, sit through the consultation, then come back through more traffic. Best case, I lose three hours. Worst case, more.

Three hours is not small anymore.

Three hours is the difference between finishing a section today or pushing it to tomorrow, and tomorrow is already full.

I sit up, already annoyed, already trying to rearrange things mentally. Maybe I can move the circulation refinement to tonight, extend by two hours, wake up earlier tomorrow, cut the break in the afternoon, it’s not ideal but it might—

I stop.

This is stupid.

I haven’t even gotten out of bed and I’m already behind.

By the time I finish getting ready, the irritation has settled properly, not loud, just there in the background, making everything feel slightly tighter than it should.

When I step into the study, Bael is already there.

That makes me pause for half a second.

He’s dressed for work, of course, everything in place the way it always is, tablet in hand, expression neutral. There’s nothing obviously strange about it, except the timing, because he’s usually already gone by now.

I don’t think too much about it.

"I have the hospital appointment later," I say as I move to my desk, pulling my laptop closer, already opening files.

"I know," he says.

Of course he does.

"I’ll leave around ten," I continue, more to keep things organized than anything else. "I should be back by—"

"There’s no need."

I stop.

Look up.

"No need for what?"

"To go to the hospital." He sets the tablet down like he’s not saying anything unusual. "Dr. Xi will come here."

For a second, I just stare at him.

I’m pretty sure I heard that correctly, but it doesn’t feel like I did.

"...What?"

"I’ve arranged it," he says.

"When?"

"Yesterday."

There’s no hesitation in his answer, no sense that this is something that needed to be discussed first.

I blink.

"You arranged it," I repeat, slower this time.

"Yes."

"And you didn’t think to mention it?"

His gaze flicks toward me briefly. "It didn’t require discussion."

I exhale, turning back to my desk, even though my attention is no longer on the screen.

"That’s not the point," I mutter.

"You know now."

That’s technically true.

Still annoying.

There’s a short pause, and then he adds, like he’s clarifying something obvious, "With your competition deadline approaching, wasting half a day traveling back and forth is inefficient."

I still slightly.

There it is.

Efficiency.

Time management.

Something I can understand.

I nod once, more to end the conversation than because I agree completely. "Fine."

He picks his tablet back up, already moving on like the matter is settled.

I sit down slowly.

This makes sense.

It does.

There’s no reason to go all the way to the hospital for a routine checkup if the same thing can be done here. It’s practical. Efficient. Exactly the kind of decision Bael would make.

That should be enough.

It almost is.

Except... he remembered the appointment, he arranged it in advance, he didn’t say anything, just handled it.

I stare at my screen for a second longer than necessary, then force myself to focus.

It doesn’t matter.

I have work to do.

***

It becomes obvious pretty quickly that focusing is not going to be as easy as I thought.

Bael doesn’t leave.

At first, I assume he will, that he just needed to finish something before heading out, but he stays. He shifts to the other side of the room, sets up like he’s planning to work from here, and then... just does.

Quietly.

Without interruption.

Which should make it easier to ignore him.

It doesn’t.

There’s just enough awareness of him being there to make everything feel slightly off. Not distracting in a loud way, but in that quiet, persistent way where you can’t fully settle into your own rhythm.

I try anyway.

I pull up the residential cluster, start reviewing yesterday’s adjustments, tell myself to just keep going.

At some point, Mrs. Wen comes in with food.

"Master Bael said you should eat," she says, placing the tray down.

I glance at it, then at her. "I was going to."

She gives me a look that says she doesn’t believe that, then leaves.

I stare at the tray for a moment.

Then I eat.

Not because I’m particularly hungry, but because it’s easier than dealing with the alternative, which would probably involve her coming back.

Across the room, Bael doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t look up.

But there’s still that feeling, like if I don’t eat, he’ll notice anyway.

Which is ridiculous.

I focus on my food, then back to my work.

***

Dr. Xi arrives in the afternoon, exactly on time.

The checkup is... normal.

That’s the best word for it.

He runs through everything efficiently, checks vitals, asks questions, makes notes. There’s nothing unexpected, nothing dramatic, nothing that requires more than standard adjustments.

"The baby is developing well," He says after a while. "Everything is stable."

I nod.

That part is good.

Bael is still there, listening, and I’m hyper-aware of his presence in a way that makes it hard to focus on Dr. Xi’s questions.

"Any unusual stress?" Dr Xi asks.

I hesitate.

"I’m working on a competition deadline. Architecture design. It’s... intense."

"How intense?"

"...Fourteen-hour days sometimes."

His expression shifts slightly.

Not disapproving, exactly.

Just... assessing.

"Try to maintain some balance," he says. "The pregnancy is progressing well, but stress management is important."

"I’m managing."

"He forgets to eat," Bael says from his chair.

I turn to glare at him.

He doesn’t look up from his tablet.

"And sleep," he adds. "He worked until one AM two days before."

"It was midnight," I snap.

"12:47."

Dr. Xi looks between us, something almost amused crossing his face.

"Well," he says, "it sounds like someone is keeping track."

The comment is light.

Professional.

But it lands hard anyway.

Bael glances up, expression unreadable.

"Someone has to."

Dr. Xi smiles slightly, making a note on his tablet.

"I have to say, Mr. Wuchen, you’re unusually attentive for a first-time father. Far more involved than most husbands I see."

The words hang in the air.

Bael’s expression doesn’t change.

"It’s practical," he says simply.

But Dr. Xi is still smiling, like he doesn’t quite believe that’s all it is.

And I’m sitting there trying very hard not to let that comment do what it’s doing to my chest.

Because hearing it from someone else makes it impossible to dismiss completely.

Makes it harder to tell myself this is just responsibility, just obligation, just Bael being efficient.

Dr. Xi finishes his notes and starts packing up.

"Everything looks excellent," he says. "Keep doing what you’re doing. Both of you."

The "both of you" feels pointed.

After he leaves, the house feels strangely quiet.

Bael walks him out, and I’m left standing in the sitting room, staring at nothing.

*Unusually attentive.*

*Far more involved than most husbands.*

I force myself to move, to go back to the study, to return to work like this is fine.

Like I’m fine.

But my concentration is shot.

I sit at my desk, staring at the green corridor specifications without actually seeing them.

My brain keeps circling back.

To the way Bael rearranged the appointment without being asked.

To the way he stayed home today.

To the way he tracks things like when I last ate and how late I worked.

To the way Dr. Xi looked at us like we were something more than a business arrangement.

I tell myself it’s still just responsibility.

That Bael is this way because he’s efficient and controlled and takes his obligations seriously.

That this is about the heir, about the pregnancy, about practical management.

But even as I think it, the explanation feels weaker than before.

Thinner.

Like it’s not quite covering everything anymore.

Because responsibility doesn’t explain the hand-holding in the dark.

Doesn’t explain him standing in my study doorway at midnight looking irritated that I haven’t slept.

Doesn’t explain the way he looked at my work and said I was good at it like he meant it.

Doesn’t explain protecting my competition time like it matters.

I press my fingers against my temples.

This is bad.

Really bad.

Because the problem isn’t whether Bael cares anymore.

The problem is that I’m starting to think he might care in ways neither of us are saying out loud.

And that thought is dangerous.

Terrifying.

Impossible to manage or control or file away neatly.

I stare at my unfinished designs, at the timeline that suddenly feels less pressing than it did this morning.

Three and a half weeks until the deadline.

Three and a half weeks to finish this project and prove I can actually do what Grandmother expects, what Bael apparently believes I can do.

That should be the most stressful thing in my life right now.

It should be.

But sitting here in the quiet study, with Bael somewhere in the house, with Dr. Xi’s words still echoing...

*Unusually attentive. Far more involved than most husbands.*

...I realize the competition deadline might not be the thing I should be worried about.

Because deadlines can be managed, work can be finished one way or another, even if it’s messy.

But this...

I exhale slowly, pressing my fingers harder against my temples.

This is different.

This growing, impossible awareness that I’m falling in love with Bael Wuchen...

It feels significantly less survivable.