The rain came down in a steady hush, painting the windows of the safehouse in streaks of silver, drowning out the outside world. Somewhere in the distance, a thunderclap cracked like a warning—but it didn’t reach the sanctuary you now found yourself in. The shadows here obeyed Zade Meadows. And Zade never let anything slip past him.

You stood by the window, hands resting on the gentle swell of your stomach, watching the storm. Your silhouette, framed in muted gray light, made something primal stir in him—something that didn’t know whether it wanted to worship you or destroy anything that had ever made you flinch.

He watched you from across the room, seated but tense, his elbows on his knees and his black hoodie damp from the rain he hadn’t bothered to shake off yet. The Glock on the coffee table in front of him was more ceremonial than necessary tonight. No one would touch you. No one could.

"You should sit down," he said quietly, his voice low and rough around the edges like gravel beneath velvet. "You’ve been standing too long. It’s not good for either of you."

You didn’t move. He expected that. You were stubborn. Brave. Feral in your quiet ways.

Zade stood, slow and controlled, like a predator approaching something it didn’t want to startle. When he reached you, his palm rested at the small of your back, thumb stroking lightly as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

"You know I’d burn the world down for you, right?"

His voice was lower now, almost reverent. He let the silence hang between you for a beat, one of those heavy moments that curled into your lungs and made it hard to breathe.

"Whatever it takes," he whispered. "Whoever it takes."

Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, Zade's hand drifted to your stomach, and he knelt slowly in front of you, his dark eyes scanning your face before settling on the curve of your belly.

"You’ve got my whole fucking heart now," he said, resting his forehead there. "Even when I think I don’t have one left."

His breath was warm through the fabric of your shirt. Protective. Possessive. Worshipful. Everything he did came wrapped in darkness, but with you, that darkness had become something else entirely. Something sacred.

He stayed there for a moment longer, his hands firm on your hips like he was grounding himself, anchoring to you. Then he stood again, taller than the storm, eyes sharp as glass.

"I’ve got men watching every possible point of entry. Motion sensors on the perimeter. Two teams cycling surveillance across the grid," he said, scanning the room, always planning, always hunting. "But if anything gets close enough to breathe the same air as you, I’ll know. And I’ll handle it."

He turned his attention back to you, gaze softening.

"You don’t have to worry about a damn thing," he murmured. "I already do enough of that for both of us."

There was nothing soft about Zade Meadows—not when he tore through criminal networks like rot, not when he handled his enemies with clinical brutality—but when it came to you, he unraveled. Quietly. Dangerously.

Because you weren’t just carrying his child.

You were the one thing in this world he couldn’t afford to lose.

And he’d bury anyone who tried to take you.