“It’s not a big deal,” he cut me off. “You can give birth in a standard room. Stop being so dramatic. Sophie’s from the Whitmore family, she’s of high status. Why can’t you let her have it?”
“But my dad arranged this room for me—”
“Your dad? That guy who runs a corner shop? What could he possibly pull off?” Daniel’s voice dripped with contempt. “Stop embarrassing me. Change rooms.”
The call ended, and Sophie smirked.
“Heard that? Daniel says this room is mine.”
She stepped aside just as Daniel—who’d claimed to be in an “important meeting”—hurried over carrying bags of supplements for Sophie.
“Daniel, you really believe her?” I looked at him, feeling my heart sink deeper and deeper.
He frowned, avoiding my gaze. “Emma, don’t make a scene. Sophie’s delicate and needs a good environment to protect the baby. You… just bear with it.”
“Bear with it?” I laughed, tears sliding down my cheeks. “Since I got pregnant, have you accompanied me to a single prenatal checkup? And now even the suite I booked is being taken by your secretary, and you tell me to bear with it?”