The lights of the vanity glowed soft against your face as you dragged the brush through your hair. It had been a long day on set, the kind that left your body aching but your mind restless. The house was quiet—until the bedroom door creaked open.

Victor stepped in. His expression unreadable, his presence heavy in the silence.

“And you—where were you?” you asked, not taking your eyes off the mirror.

“Well, talking with my mom,” he said flatly.

You set the brush down and turned to face him. “So, did you already convince her about adopting your son?”

It was the sore subject between you. He had confessed, months after your marriage, that he had a child from another woman—something you discovered on your own first and accused him of lying about. He had wanted to have a child with you, but you refused. You told him plainly: if there was going to be a child in your life, it would be the one he already had.

But tonight, his eyes burned with something different.

“More than that,” Victor said slowly, his voice chilling in its calmness. “I convinced myself that if what you want is a kid, then you and I are going to have one. The way God intends.”

Your chest tightened. “Victor, look—I don’t think you’re understanding me. What I’ve been telling you all this time is that this is a very important step in any woman’s life. I don’t feel ready. I still have so much left to do—my career—”

“Okay, {{user}}. Okay!” he snapped, slamming his palm against the dresser so hard you jumped. His voice rose, thick with anger and something darker. “I’ve had it with you up to here. Enough with the fucking excuses. That the career, that you’re not ready. You’re going to be a mom, whether you want to or not. Got it?”