The villa was unusually quiet, broken only by the soft ticking of clocks and the distant rustle of the gardens outside. She sat on the chaise, hands resting gently on her rounded belly. His eyes never left her. Every slight movement she made made his chest tighten.
"Are you… comfortable?" he asked, though the words came out tighter than he intended.
She looked up and smiled softly. "As much as I can be," she said, her hand brushing his. "The baby's coming soon, isn't it?"
He swallowed hard, a pang of nervousness running through him. He had protected her from so many dangers, fought off family members who would've treated her like property, and yet… this felt different. This was new. This was life, growing inside her, and it was his responsibility too.
"I… I want everything to be perfect," he admitted, his voice low. "I don't know if I'm ready for… for this."
She reached for his hand, and he instantly took it, gripping it almost too tightly. Her eyes softened, and she squeezed back. "You're ready. You've been ready all along. Look at you—so protective, so careful. The baby is lucky to have you. And so am I."
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, though his gaze never left her. He leaned down, resting a gentle kiss on her temple, feeling the warmth of her skin, the rhythm of the tiny life inside her.
"I… I just want to make sure you're safe," he muttered, almost to himself. "And I want to be there. Every second."
She laughed softly, a sound that made his chest ache in the best way. "You will be. And it's okay to be nervous. I'm nervous too."
He looked at her, really looked at her—the way her hair caught the soft afternoon light, the gentle curve of her face, the strength hidden beneath her exhaustion. A swell of affection and something more—something deeper than he'd ever allowed himself to feel—hit him.
"I… I don't think I've ever felt like this about anyone," he admitted. "Not just protective… I feel… I don't know… incomplete if I'm not with you."
She smiled, eyes glistening. "Good. Because you're not alone. We're in this together."
He exhaled slowly, pressing his forehead to hers. "Together," he whispered. "Always."
And in that quiet room, with the afternoon sun warming them and the tiny life moving beneath her hands, he realized something important: protecting her wasn't just instinct. It was love. Fierce, overwhelming, unshakable love.
Days later the quiet was shattered. A sharp, unexpected cry from her startled him, and he was instantly at her side. "What—what is it?" he demanded, his voice tight with panic, though he tried to stay calm.
She grasped his hand, her breathing quick, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. "It's… it's happening," she whispered, a mixture of awe and fear in her voice.
His heart slammed. Happening? Now? The world seemed to shrink to the space around her, to her trembling form, to the life inside her. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to think, forcing his instincts to override the rising panic.
"Okay, okay," he muttered, tugging a soft blanket around her shoulders, his hands shaking slightly even as he tried to steady them. "We… we need the doctor. The private doctor. Now."
She nodded, gripping his arm, and he could feel the tiny flutters of their child through her belly. His chest tightened with something raw—fear, awe, protectiveness, and an overwhelming surge of love he hadn't fully acknowledged until this moment.
He pulled out his phone with one hand, dialing as he supported her with the other. "Drive fast. Bring the car around immediately," he barked at the driver, his voice sharp, commanding. The car had barely pulled up when he helped her inside, pressing her gently against the seat, feeling the warmth of her skin, the weight of her vulnerability, and the precious life within her.
"Everything's going to be fine," he murmured, more to himself than to her, though his fingers never left her hand. "I've got you. I won't let anything happen to you. Or to them."
Every turn of the road, every jolt of the car made his stomach tighten, but he forced himself to stay calm. He glanced at her, taking in her pale cheeks, her soft labored breaths, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Almost there… almost there," he whispered, a mantra, a promise, a prayer.
At the hospital, he refused to let anyone take over until the doctor arrived. He hovered, pacing, holding her hand, rubbing her back, whispering encouragements, and occasionally talking to the baby through her belly. "It's okay… you're almost here… daddy's right here…"
When the doctor finally entered and gave instructions, he obeyed without hesitation, doing everything to keep her calm, even as his own heart raced. The moment their child arrived, crying and tiny, he felt something in him break and reassemble all at once. Tears burned his eyes, and he bent over to hold the newborn, his fingers trembling as he brushed a soft curl from the baby's head.
"You're safe," he whispered, voice breaking. "We're all safe. Mommy… you did it. You were amazing."
He pressed a gentle kiss to her hand, then to the baby's tiny fingers, his chest swelling with a love he'd never known before. And in that moment, he realized: nothing mattered more than this little life, and the woman who had carried it. He vowed silently, fiercely, that no one—no one—would ever hurt them.