CHAPTER 230: CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND THIRTY

Anne had been cloistered in her beautiful guest suite for what felt like an eternity, her thoughts a chaotic storm of fear and uncertainty. She had been left in this gilded cage to wait, and the waiting was a special kind of torture. Augusta had gone out to make sure her plans are going well.

"What did you say?" Philip asked, his voice a low, dangerous murmur that cut through the silence. He had been listening to her frantic explanation of her new plan, but had stopped her when she finally confessed the real, terrifying reason for her desperation.

Anne took a shaky breath, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white. This was it. The moment her entire future hinged upon. "It is exactly what you heard, Your Grace," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. "I am with child."

Philip’s reaction was not at all what she had prepared for. He did not shout. He did not look angry or shocked. First, a slow, strange smile spread across his handsome face. The smile then deepened into a soft, disbelieving chuckle. And then, he threw his head back and laughed. It was not a warm or happy sound. It was a cold, mocking laugh that echoed in the elegant room, a sound that stripped away every last shred of her dignity.

The laughter stunned Anne into silence. Her face, already pale, seemed to lose all its color. This was worse than anger. This was ridicule.

Philip stood up from the armchair, his laughter finally dying down. With the aid of his silver-headed stick, he walked over to the tall window, his back to her. He looked down at the peaceful, manicured garden below, a perfect picture of a calm, thoughtful nobleman. When he spoke again, his voice was completely devoid of its earlier amusement. It was dangerously serious, as cold and sharp as a shard of ice.

"Is it mine?"

The question was a brutal, direct assault. Anne felt a hot flush of shame and fury rise in her cheeks. She managed a harsh, bitter chuckle of her own, a pathetic echo of his.

Philip turned slowly from the window to look at her, his face a perfect, unreadable mask.

"Is it?" he asked again, his voice even quieter, which only made it more menacing.

Anne knew that a simple ’yes’ would not be enough. He was testing her, trying to break her. She had to show strength. She stood up from her chair, forcing herself to meet his cold, unwavering gaze. "Do you think if you insult me like this I would go away on my own, by any chance?" she retorted, her voice shaking slightly despite her best efforts to keep it steady. "Do you think your laughter and your accusations are enough to make me disappear?"

Philip was silent, his expression still the same. He was waiting, watching her, judging her performance.

Anne took a deep breath, clutching the shreds of her courage. This was the lie that had to hold, the foundation of her entire future. "It is your child," she said, her voice growing stronger, more defiant. "It is yours. I am going to raise it as the Carson heir. As your heir." She was not just claiming paternity; she was staking a claim on his name, his house, his entire legacy.

For a long moment, Philip just stared at her. Anne’s heart hammered against her ribs, the silence stretching out into an agonizing eternity. Then, his expression changed completely. The cold, serious mask melted away, replaced by a sudden, disarming smile.

"First," he said, his voice now warm and reassuring, "you are wrong." He walked back towards her, his cane tapping softly on the polished floor. He stood in front of her. "I am not trying to insult you," he said, his eyes now looking at her with what appeared to be genuine understanding. "I just wanted to check. You must understand, this is... a surprise. A wonderful one, but a surprise nonetheless."

Before she could process this dizzying change in his demeanor, he pulled her into a hug. His arms were strong and secure around her, and he began to gently pat her hair, a gesture that was both comforting and condescending. "Good job, Anne," he murmured into her hair. "You’ve done a good job."

Anne, still reeling from the emotional whiplash of the last few minutes, was confused. The hug, the gentle words, his sudden approval—it made no sense. "Do you mean that?" she asked, her voice muffled against his fine wool coat.

"Of course," Philip replied, his voice a smooth, comforting purr. "Making a family? Starting the next generation of our line? Of course it’s a good thing. A very good thing."

A wave of relief washed over Anne. She held him tighter, a small, triumphant smile on her face. It worked, she thought to herself, a surge of hope flooding through her. He believes me. He is on my side. She closed her eyes, imagining her future once more taking shape. I will use this child to turn things around for me. I will be the mother of the Carson heir. They will have to accept me then. Delia won’t be able to touch me and I will be above her once again.

Philip continued patting her head, the picture of a proud father-to-be. But as Anne’s face was hidden against his chest, the warm smile vanished from his lips, seen by no one. His eyes, looking out over her head at the elegant room, turned cold and hard as stone.

"A trump card," he thought to himself, a vicious, silent satisfaction spreading through him. "She has handed me my ultimate trump card." His mind was already racing, seeing the path to his victory laid out before him. A child. A supposed heir. It was the one thing that could sway his sentimental grandmother. It was a scandal that will gain a lot of pity from his grandmother and step mother and could be used to put his perfect, beloved step-brother Eric on the defensive. It was leverage.

" I will use this child to get everything I want," he planned, the coldness of his thoughts a stark contrast to the gentle patting of his hand.

" I will use it to secure my position, to destabilize Eric and his new allies, to gain the full support of my grandmother. And when I have it all, when they are no longer useful to me, I will discard them both. Mother and child. They will be nothing more than a temporary inconvenience that served its purpose."

A vicious, triumphant smile touched his lips once more, and he held the unsuspecting Anne just a little bit tighter, "A bastard can never be a Carson."