The CEO's Doll ✔

Chapter 11

2 months later.

Florence Academy of Fine Arts. Studio.

Filippo walks in excitedly, sits down next to me, and pulls out a medal. "Macy, our group took first place in the intercollegiate curatorial competition."

I put down my paintbrush and look at the sunlight shining through the window behind Filippo, squinting my eyes.There is no class today, but I came to the studio at 7 in the morning to paint.

Our group consists of three students, the other one being Stella with her hair dyed pink.

However, they are both only 18 years old, while I am 21 and just started my first year at the art academy a little over a month ago.

Stella walks in with a smile, "We're amazing."

She pauses and says, "Macy, let's take a group photo of the three of us."

I nod and put on a mask.

Stella quickly sends me a selfie, and my phone dinged.

I pick up my phone, confirm that the mask covered my face to the point where none of my features are recognizable, and allow her to post it on Instagram.

In the age of the internet, taking selfies is a dangerous thing.

My group members have gotten used to it, but can't help but ask, "Macy, you're really beautiful, why don't you show your face?"

I shrug and make up an excuse, "I have camera phobia."

I don't know if it's because I worked too late last night and woke up too early today, but as soon as I stand up to stretch, I suddenly feel dizzy.

According to the recollections of my two group members later, they were scared stiff. My body swayed and then fell to the ground, hitting my head on the easel. Paints were also knocked over, flowing in colorful streams on the floor.

I wake up in the school hospital with a bandage on my head.

The school doctor tells Filippo and Stella that my injury only looks scary but they don't need to worry. She asks them to go back to class while keeping me for a little longer.

"No need," I stand up after the doctor closed the door, "Could you please tell me how long it takes to change the dressing? I can take care of the wound myself at home."

But the doctor shakes her head. "You're pregnant."

She pauses and takes out a test report. "Your blood HCG level is over 10,000 IU/L."

I stand still, feeling like I'm dreaming, suddenly reminded of the days and nights in Tunisia.

"This can't be," I say.

Elliot always used protection.

I've been feeling fine lately, no vomiting, no excessive sleepiness.

"Your menstrual period, has it been delayed?" the school doctor presents another piece of evidence.

I open my mouth, but suddenly fall silent.

Last month, my period didn't come, but I thought it was because of the stress of preparing for entrance exams.

This is not enough evidence to prove that I'm pregnant.

The school doctor looks at me and sighs softly, "In Italy, people believe in Catholicism, and abortion is considered an evil crime. So, women can only consider whether to keep the child within the first three months of pregnancy."

"You have four more weeks to think about it."

I return home and start pondering this question, but I can't find an answer.