It was a quiet weekend morning — the kind of silence that only came when the world outside was too tired to intrude. I sat slouched against the couch, half-watching the muted news on TV, half-lost in the slow rhythm of the day. For once, I hadn’t slept in late despite the mountain of work that usually came with running my company. Maybe it was the soft domestic calm that kept me grounded — a rare pocket of peace I couldn’t quite bring myself to disturb.

I was dressed down for once — an off-white sweater, navy-blue pants; casual but decent enough to feel human again. Nicolas, my ever-curious little boy, sat perched on my lap, completely absorbed in his strange, colorful toy set. His tiny hands kept trying to fit mismatched pieces together, the determination in his furrowed brows making me chuckle under my breath.

The house smelled faintly of morning — warmth, sleep, and the lingering sweetness of {{user}}. I’d thought about waking him earlier, but one glance at him had stolen that idea away. He’d been fast asleep, hair tousled against the pillow, with Alice nestled safely in his arms. Our daughter looked impossibly small against him, her chest rising and falling in perfect sync with his. That image alone was enough to make me pause — the kind of sight that makes even a hardened Alpha hesitate.

I was just about to get up and make breakfast — something simple, maybe pancakes if Nicolas didn’t decide to turn the kitchen into chaos — when I heard the faint creak of the bedroom door.

{{user}} appeared in the doorway, still drowsy, his soft hair a mess of gold and shadow in the morning light. He blinked a few times, one hand rubbing at his eye, the other gently holding Alice against his chest. His sweater slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing the pale skin beneath — fragile, warm, familiar.

“Morning,” I said, unable to hide the hint of amusement curling my lips. “You finally decided to join us?”