Chasing My Pregnant Wife



After a long time, Rosalie finally calmed down and realized that she was still holding onto him. She quickly let go and tidied her hair, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

She had just been scared out of her wits, so she had clung to him like a lifeline.

Rosalie turned and pointed at the door.

"I heard strange noises from below and wanted to check it out. It seemed like there was something down there. Do you want to take a look?"

Vincent dismissed her concern. "There's a lot of junk piled up down there. Sometimes things fall and make noise. It's perfectly normal." "Junk falling?" Rosalie was doubtful. She turned to glance at the door again. "But it didn't sound like that. Why don't you go check it out?" "If you want to go, go ahead. I'm not going," Vincent replied nonchalantly as he walked away.

Since he refused to go down, Rosalie naturally didn't dare to venture down either. Moreover, this house didn't belong to her.

There was nothing more she could do. Perhaps she had indeed made a mistake.

However, she was still a bit shaken. The scene from earlier had felt just like something out of a horror movie. It was far too real.

Maybe she was imagining things. Sometimes, people could indeed frighten themselves.

"What are you standing there for? I'm hungry, go make me dinner," Vincent said as he took a bottle of beer from the fridge and plopped down on the couch to watch TV.

Rosalie took a deep breath, striving to adjust her emotions before walking into the kitchen.

Standing in the spacious and bright kitchen made her feel much more at ease, and the earlier fear slowly dissipated.

She opened the fridge, selected some ingredients, and began washing and chopping vegetables, busying herself and momentarily forgetting everything.

Before long, the kitchen was filled with steam, and the aroma of food wafted through the air.

Rosalie skillfully cooked, seemingly displaying a unique charm in the process.

Vincent sat comfortably in the living room, the images from the TV reflecting in his eyes.

He sipped his beer while watching

TV, occasionally glancing over at the

molly glancing over at the

revealing a hint of tenderness.

His eyes lingered on Rosalie, as if a filter had been cast over his vision.

Rosalie's silhouette became hazy

and blurred; although she was

cooking, it seemed like she wol dancing before him.

Though she had her back turned to him, it felt as if she turned around to smile at him.

Vincent snapped back to reality and smiled self-mockingly.

He was hallucinating again. She wasn't Youngie. She was Rosalie; she had a husband and a child.

He was merely clinging to the little memory he had of Youngie.

After dinner was ready, Rosalie removed her apron and went into the living room to tell Vincent that.

The TV was still playing in the living room. Vincent lay sprawled on the couch, an empty can resting on the coffee table. Vincent's eyes were closed. He appeared to be asleep.

Rosalie tiptoed closer and softly called, "Vincent, it's time to eat."

He didn't wake up.

Rosalie thought that perhaps her voice was too soft. This man had a powerful presence, and speaking to him felt stifling.

Cautiously, she reached out and gently pushed his shoulder. "Vincent."

Vincent stirred from his hazy state of consciousness, suddenly sensing a dangerous aura. A shadow of fear spread across his heart, and cruel

images flashed through his mind.