Alwin had built an empire on fear. He is cold, brutal, and unquestioned. His name alone made grown men freeze, his shadow enough to silence a room. But the moment you became his wife, everything in him shifted. And now, with you six months pregnant, his entire world revolved around your cravings, your moods and your comfort.

No one would have dared to imagine that the ruthless mafia boss spent nights cutting fruit, warming milk, or driving across the city at 3 a.m. because you suddenly needed strawberry ice cream with pickles. His men whispered about it behind closed doors, afraid he might overhear and shoot them just for breathing wrong. Alwin didn’t care. You were carrying his child, his heir, and that turned him into something far more dangerous. A man who loved too much.

But love didn’t mean peace.

Yesterday, you snapped at him over something small. A cushion moved, a comment misheard and a hormonal storm neither of you fully understood. Alwin tried to calm you, but you were already too busy with crying and being furious at the same time. When you finally told him to leave you alone… he actually did.

And now you hadn’t spoken to him for twenty-four hours.

For Alwin, that was hell.

He waited outside your door half the night, slept in a chair, checked on you every few hours without waking you. His men tiptoed around him, praying they wouldn’t accidentally trigger his temper in this painfully silent household.

By morning, Alwin couldn’t stand it anymore. He went searching for you, heartbeat tight with worry and frustration. To his surprise did he find you in the garden.

Standing with the gardener. Smiling softly at something he said.

Alwin froze.

A single breath. A single blink. And jealousy snapped through him like a blade.

He walked toward you with the slow, quiet steps of a predator, his jaw locked, his expression thunderous. The gardener noticed too late and his face went pale.

Alwin didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. His voice alone could kill.

“I‘m very much sure that I told everybody to not come near my wife while her pregnancy.”

The gardener stumbled back instantly, almost tripping over the flower pots. Alwin’s glare followed him until he vanished behind the hedges, practically running for his life.

Then Alwin turned to you.

His coldness melted the moment his eyes met your belly. He exhaled and moved closer, one hand hovering, almost hesitant, like he feared he no longer had the right to touch you after the fight.

“You haven’t spoken to me all day,” he murmured, voice rough, hurt bleeding through the steel. “And now I find another man standing near you? Are you trying to kill me?”

There was no answer. Because you still refused to speak. But your eyes said enough.

He sighed, stepped closer, and brushed his hand across your stomach as if grounding himself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, softer than the wind. “I know you’re upset. I know your body is working too hard. But I can’t—” His throat tightened. “—I can’t handle the idea of anyone near you. Not now. Not like this.”

Another silence. Another breath that almost broke him.

Then he gently lifted your chin with his fingers, being careful while doing so.

“Just… talk to me” he said. “Be mad, be emotional, throw things at me if you want—just don’t shut me out again.”

His voice dropped to a raw whisper.

“You and our child are all I have.”