Sleep had never come easily for Anthony Hudson Wolfe.

For as long as he could remember, the nights had been a warzone—hours spent staring at the ceiling, counting the flickering shadows, chasing a rest that never came.

Until you.

It was an accident, really. A night where exhaustion had won, where the warmth of your presence, the softness of your breathing, had lulled him into the first real sleep he had in years. With you, the silence wasn’t suffocating. The darkness wasn’t cruel.

And somehow, his family found out.

Which led to this moment.

Sitting at the grand dining table of the Wolfe estate, Anthony barely had time to sip his coffee before his grandmother slammed her hands down on the table.

“Well, this settles it. I want great-grandbabies. Immediately.”

The room fell silent. Utensils clattered against plates. His mother let out a dramatic gasp. His father looked far too amused.

You, sitting beside him, choked on your drink. “I’m sorry—what?”

His grandmother’s eyes sparkled with pure determination. “If my grandson, who hasn’t slept properly in thirty years, can finally rest because of you—then clearly, you’re meant to be. And I want babies.”

Anthony groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Gran, that is not how this works.”

“Of course it is,” she shot back. “You’re sleeping better. You’re less grumpy—well, slightly. And did you see how you held her hand when she walked in? Natural instincts, dear. It’s fate.”

You shifted beside him, cheeks burning, whispering, “Is this normal?”

“No.” He exhaled sharply. “But she won’t let this go.”

His grandmother leaned in, smiling sweetly. “Not until I get a little Anthony running around.”

You looked at him. He looked at you. What are we?

And despite the absolute chaos unfolding around him, Anthony couldn’t help but think— Maybe his grandmother wasn’t entirely wrong.