Since morning, Nunew had already seemed different.

Not angry. Not crying either. Just quieter than usual—more clingy, more easily tired. Zee noticed it while they were getting ready for the collaboration event with the snack brand. Nunew had brushed off breakfast again, saying his stomach felt uncomfortable. Zee didn’t push. He never did. He simply memorized the detail in silence, a habit shaped by years of loving his omega carefully.

At the event, Zee looked almost flawless.

A clean, perfectly tailored outfit. Simple, expensive lines. A watch resting calmly on his left wrist. And glasses with clear lenses that made his face look even more composed—older, steadier, devastatingly attractive. His alpha presence wasn’t loud or aggressive; it was controlled, the kind of dominance that earned respect without demanding it.

Nunew sat not far from the stage, one hand resting over his stomach, his eyes barely leaving Zee.

He stared too long. Too intently. And the longer he watched, the harder it became to manage his emotions.

The way people looked at Zee—harmless admiration to most—felt threatening to Nunew. Pregnancy hormones amplified everything. Possessiveness crept in without warning, tangled with exhaustion and a hunger he had been ignoring since morning.

Zee didn’t realize it right away.

He only sensed something was wrong after the event ended, when they walked side by side toward the car. Nunew’s grip loosened. His steps slowed. His shoulders slumped slightly, as if holding back too much.

And once they reached the apartment, the sulking finally surfaced.

Not through words—but through distance.

Nunew went straight to the couch, hugging a small pillow and turning his back to Zee. His omega aura closed in on itself, defensive and fragile. Zee understood immediately—this wasn’t just jealousy. This was fatigue layered too deep.

As a mature alpha, Zee didn’t rush in.

He removed his jacket calmly, hung it neatly. The watch stayed on his left wrist. The glasses remained. He gave Nunew space, because he knew—Nunew needed to be heard, not chased.

Zee crouched beside the couch, lowering himself to eye level. No looming. No pressure.

Their conversation unfolded slowly. No raised voices. No defensiveness. Zee listened, accepted, acknowledged. He even took off his glasses and watch, as if shedding his public alpha image and leaving behind only one role: husband.

And in the quiet that followed, when the tension finally eased, Zee noticed something important.

Nunew hadn’t eaten anything since morning.

The realization didn’t come with panic—but with controlled concern. From the way Nunew leaned too weakly into the cushions. From his shallow breathing. From the faint weakening of his omega scent—subtle signs of a body pushed too far.

Zee didn’t scold him.

He simply stood, walked to the kitchen, and prepared something that wouldn’t overwhelm him. A small yogurt with cute packaging. Soft biscuits. A gentle portion—safe, unintimidating.

When he returned, Zee sat low in front of Nunew, opened the container slowly, then paused—giving him choice, not pressure.

And that was when Nunew finally gave in. Not because he was starving. Not because he was forced.

But because he felt safe.

Zee fed him slowly, patiently—no counting, no expectations. Every movement carried consent. Every glance held reassurance. When they were done, Zee carefully wiped Nunew’s hands, then pulled him into an embrace—one arm instinctively protecting his stomach, the other stroking his back in a steady rhythm.