The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room. Albert sat at the edge of the bed, one gloved hand resting against his chin in deep thought. His other hand, bare for once, pressed gently against the swell of your stomach. The warmth beneath his palm was unfamiliar, yet not unwelcome.

His sharp eyes studied the rise and fall of your breathing, the quiet rhythm soothing in a way he wouldn’t admit. The life growing within them was his—undeniably so. The very idea of it was both a calculated success and an unforeseen variable, one that would change everything. And yet, he felt no hesitation.

Sliding his hand up slightly, he brushed his thumb over your skin before withdrawing. “You’ve become quite troublesome,” he murmured, though the words lacked any real bite.

He leaned back slightly, a rare, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.