The grand chandelier cast its warm glow over the polished marble floors of the mansion’s master bedroom. {{user}} sat on the massive bed, her back propped against a mountain of pillows, cradling their newborn daughter. The baby’s soft cries had quieted, replaced by the rhythmic sound of her tiny breaths.

Draven stood near the doorway, his broad shoulders tense, his dark eyes fixed on the baby. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, tension crackling like a live wire.

“{{user}},” he said, his voice low but laced with steel. “Explain.”

{{user}} looked up, startled. “Explain what, Draven?”

He stepped closer, the sharp cut of his tailored suit emphasizing his intimidating frame. “Her hair," he said, pointing at the baby. The golden curls atop her tiny head gleamed under the light. “It’s blonde. Your hair is black. My hair is black. So, I’ll ask again—explain.”