Three days had passed since they found out.
Triplets.
The word still echoed in Leon's mind like a tolling bell—heavy, surreal, and oddly comforting. He'd been busy before, but now his days were a storm of calls, plans, and new calculations for a future that involved not one, not two, but three children.
That morning, Leon sat at the head of the conference table at Castellan Holdings' London office, eyes narrowed at a wall-sized screen displaying blueprints and financial projections. It was a pivotal project—an urban regeneration contract that would anchor their influence in London for decades to come.
But even as board members argued over zoning permissions and risk forecasts, Leon's attention drifted. His hand grazed over his phone every few seconds.
It wasn't on silent. It never was anymore.
He hadn't let it go silent since the day Aria entered his life.
And when it finally rang—only once—he didn't hesitate. He picked up mid-sentence, cutting off a junior executive with a raised finger.
"Aria?" he answered softly.
On the other end, her voice spilled through, sweet and animated. "Leon! I was just thinking—I want the nursery to have soft greens. You know, sage or olive. Something warm and earthy. And maybe a mobile with little clouds and moons above each crib."
He smiled immediately, his entire posture softening. "You want to design it yourself?"
"Of course. This place is going to be our babies' first world. It has to feel like... home."
Leon leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded, absorbing the sound of her. Every word made the steel and glass of this office feel like a distant illusion.
Across the table, murmurs started to rise.
"She's on the line again."
"Every time, like clockwork..."
"She says nursery like he's not worth five hundred billion..."
Leon's gaze snapped up. Cold. Lethal. The room fell instantly silent under the weight of it.
But just as he opened his mouth to respond to Aria again—there was a sound.
A crash.
Glass. A thud. The phone clattered.
Then silence.
"Aria?"
Nothing.
"Aria!"
His heart dropped. He bolted from his seat, the meeting forgotten like ash in the wind. People stood up, confused, but he didn't give them a glance. His mind was on fire, filled with images he didn't want to believe.
The project could burn.
The whole city could fall.
But not her.
Leon barely remembered the drive. Only that it felt like years compressed into minutes.
The new apartment wasn't far, but every second felt like a curse.
When he burst through the door, he found her immediately—sprawled on the couch, motionless. Her phone was on the floor. A shattered vase lay nearby, its flowers limp and wet. A tablet was tipped over beside her.
"Aria," he breathed.
He was at her side in an instant, gathering her into his arms like she was glass herself. Her skin was pale. Too pale. Her lips slightly parted, her breathing shallow.
He didn't wait. He cradled her close, rushed her down the elevator, and buckled her in carefully before slamming the car door shut and peeling into the road.
"Please be okay," he whispered again and again, his knuckles white on the wheel. "Please... please be okay."
He made a single call—one he knew would get results.
"Zayyan," he said tightly as the line picked up, "she fainted. I'm bringing her in. Get the team ready."
Zayyan Idris was not only the director of London's premier hospital, but Leon's closest friend from his New York days—a man who had never heard Leon's voice shake before.
"I'll meet you at the doors," Zayyan said. "Everything will be ready."
By the time they arrived, Zayyan stood waiting at the entrance, flanked by staff and a ready stretcher.
Leon didn't wait. He scooped her up again, carrying her inside without slowing, barely hearing the instructions being shouted around him.
He laid her gently down on the stretcher.
Then refused to let go.
"You'll need to stay out here, sir," one nurse began carefully.
Leon turned to her, eyes like ice. "If anything happens to her, I will burn this place to the ground."
The nurse blanched.
Zayyan stepped in calmly, placing a firm hand on Leon's arm. "Let them work, Leon. She's in good hands. Come with me."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"You need to breathe. You won't help her by terrifying half my staff."
Reluctantly, Leon stepped aside, his gaze never leaving the room she'd disappeared into. He paced like a caged beast, rage and fear bleeding through every step.
Zayyan didn't leave him. He watched, silent and steady, until the door finally opened.
"She's stable," Zayyan said.
Leon turned so fast the air shifted.
"You were lucky to get her here so fast. She hadn't eaten in over twelve hours, Leon. And with a triplet pregnancy? That's dangerous. Very."
Leon's face fell. "She was excited. Talking about cribs... I thought she'd eaten already."
"She didn't. And next time, it could be worse." Zayyan's voice softened. "We're drawing up a nutrition plan. Our Head of Gynecology is already on it. But she needs round-the-clock care now."
Leon's throat tightened. "Can I see her?"
Zayyan nodded. "She'll wake up in fifteen minutes."
He walked in and stopped short at the sight of her.
Aria lay under soft white lights, her skin still pale, her arm hooked up to an IV, hair splayed across the pillow like dark silk. She looked like she might vanish if he blinked.
He sank into the chair beside her, picked up her hand, and pressed it to his lips.
Fifteen minutes later, her lashes fluttered.
And those brown eyes—still slightly dazed—met his.
A faint smile curved her lips. "Leon...?"
He moved instantly, leaning over her, hugging her carefully but tightly. "I'm never leaving you alone again. When you fainted... I've never panicked like that in my entire life."
He pulled her closer. "Just the thought of losing you—it wrecked me."
She leaned into him weakly. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..."
"Shhh," he whispered. "Just stay with me. That's all I want."
They spent the night at the hospital. Leon refused to leave her side. He stretched out on the narrow couch in the corner, still in his suit, watching over her like a sentry.
In the middle of the night, Aria woke again.
She saw him asleep—legs too long for the couch, his shirt wrinkled, hair slightly tousled.
And he looked, impossibly, even more handsome like that.
Her heart ached in a good way.
For this man. For their future.
Dawn found them discharged and quietly making their way home.
Leon helped her out of the car with utmost care, then disappeared into the kitchen with her chart in hand.
She smiled when he returned with a tray.
A full plate. Warm eggs, toast, fruit, and a tall glass of orange juice.
"I can't finish all this," she protested gently.
His brow arched. "You will. Or I'll feed you myself."
She flushed immediately. "That's cheating."
He sat beside her, eyes calm but stern. "Try me."
Under that gaze, she began to eat. Slowly. Bite by bite.
Every time she hesitated, he simply smiled and said nothing—but somehow, that was even more effective than nagging.
When she finished, he gently took the tray away and guided her back to the couch. "Rest," he said simply.
And this time, she didn't argue.