Continues....

He watched as she obeyed, sitting hesitantly on the edge of the bed. Every muscle in her body was on edge now, breath shaky. He was too close. Too raw. Like a live wire about to spark. He let out a low exhale as she sat—fighting the urge to pounce, to take and claim every part of her. But he forced himself to stay back, standing over her like a predator.

His gaze swept across her, captivated by the warmth of her flushed skin at the neck, the gentle rhythm of her chest rising and falling, and the cascade of her hair spilling down her back like a silken waterfall...

He'd dreamed of this moment for weeks. In every dark, lonely night. But not like this. He'd never imagined he'd feel a wild, almost feral need clawing at his insides.

"I'm fine, don't worry," she said

He moved in one fluid motion—kneeling in front of her, forcing her knees apart just enough to settle between them. His hands gripped her waist, thumbs pressing into the soft curve above her hips.

"Stop saying that." His voice was low—dangerous—like thunder before a storm. "You're not fine. You're trembling. You're sick every morning."

He leaned closer, eyes locking onto hers.

"And you think I won't notice? That I wouldn't feel it?"

A beat.

"You carry yourself differently now." His hands slid slowly upward—just slightly—not quite touching what he truly wanted. "Softer. Slower."

Then, quieter:

"...Are you with child?" The question hung in the air, thick and tense. As she inhaled sharply, her breath catching in her throat, it was confirmation enough of the truth she had not yet spoken.

In an instant, his hands went still, every sinew in his body locking into place as if time itself had paused. His heart raced wildly, pounding against his ribcage like a frenzied creature trapped within its confines.

He remained frozen, his gaze rooted to hers, searching desperately for any glimpse of denial, flickers of fear, or whispers of uncertainty.

But she held his stare, unwavering and resolute.

Within that charged silence, an undeniable truth settled between them—he understood.

A child.

His child.

Inside her. Growing. Real.

Suddenly, the room felt too small. The air is too thick to breathe.

" I-I'm. We-. You-. I don't know, you must hate it, right?. You don't want this, right? I know, won't worry, I'll go away from you. Or if you want this child, then it's good you will be getting an heir, that's what you want, right? I fulfilled my wife's duty. I'm with your child. You don't have to worry so much." She kept rambling on, her nerves bubbling beneath the surface.

In one swift motion, he gripped her shoulders—hard enough to stop her frantic words—and pulled her into him.

"Shut up."

Not cruel. Not cold. A raw, broken command.

His eyes burned into hers—fierce, wild.

"You think this is about duty? An heir? A fucking transaction?"

His voice cracked. "You think I want a child just to carry on some damn name?"

He leaned in until his forehead pressed against hers—breathing hard.

"I want you. I've wanted you since the moment you looked at me like I was nothing and still made my blood burn."

A shaky breath.

"And now... now there's a piece of us growing inside you."

His hands slid down to cradle her stomach—gentle now, reverent.

"This isn't duty. This is... mine. Ours."

"And if you ever," he whispered, "ever say you'll leave with my child again..."

He didn't finish. Just held her tighter—the quiet truth hanging between them:

"I'd follow you to the end of the world and beg on my knees if I had to."

Her gaze fixed on him, her eyes brimming with tears.

He saw the shock in her eyes—wide, unguarded, trembling like a startled deer.

And for the first time, he unveiled his true self to her.

Gone were the masks and the pride, stripped away like leaves in the autumn breeze. The polished veneer of the British lord, so often serving as his shield, faded into the background, leaving only the raw turmoil of his spirit laid bare.

His touch was gentle as his thumb glided over her stomach, conveying a promise that lingered in the air between them—a pledge woven silently through his fingertips.

"You're not running," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, heavy like a storm cloud ready to burst. "Not from me. Not ever again."

Then, in a tone barely above a whisper—fragile and almost shattered—he confessed, "I know you don't want this... don't want me. But I'm not letting go."

"Not when you're carrying my child."

"Not when I've already fallen for you."

Her mouth fell open. Tears in the corner of her eyes

He watched the tears in her eyes—the sight twisting his heart like he was being torn in half. He lifted a hand, gently brushing away the tears rolling down her cheek.

His voice was hoarse, raw with emotion. "Those tears..." he whispered.

Then he did the one thing he swore he wouldn't.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as he buried his face in the curve of her neck. His breath came in shaky whispers, creating a tremor on her skin. She sensed the tension coiled in every muscle of his body, as if he were fighting to hold himself together.

After five long minutes of silence, she cautiously ran her fingers through his hair. The soft, reassuring gesture seemed to unravel something deep within him, and he felt a wave of emotion break free, raw and unguarded.

A rough sigh escaped him as her fingers moved gently through his hair.

He leaned into her touch, like a stray animal that had been touch-starved for months.

His body shuddered—the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly.

He'd been strong and cold for so long—always holding back, always in control. But when her hands touched him, it felt like all those walls crashed down. Like she could pull out the raw, untamed parts of him that he never let anyone see. He didn't speak. Couldn't.

Her fingers—soft, hesitant—stroking through his hair, down his neck... it unravelled him.

A month of silence. Of cold sheets and hollow nights.

And now—this. Her touch. Her breath on his skin.

He turned slightly, pressing a rough, desperate kiss to her collarbone.

Not demanding. Not possessive.

Just... feeling.

Like he was drowning, and she was the only thing keeping him above water.

"This child. I -. I don't know what to say, I'm torn between heart and mind. I don't know what I even want now, what I feel," she said slowly.

"Power could not protect him. Pride could not shield him. Love had undone him."

Who do you think needs the other more — him or her? 👀

Can a child truly unite love...