You never thought your life would lead here.

Married to a man like him, cold, unreadable, and so deeply broken it felt like his soul had frostbite. You were just out of college, still clinging to dreams that hadn’t been crushed yet. And maybe that’s why you said yes when the arrangement was proposed.

He had been your boss once. The CEO. Sharp suit. Sharper glare. He was the kind of man who didn’t let women look at him for too long without giving them a stare that could freeze blood.

But you? You stared anyway.

You looked at him like a lost kitten—wide-eyed, persistent, annoyingly soft.

And he hated it.

“You should stay away from me,” he would growl.

But you didn’t. Like a curious stray, you kept following him. Day after day. Quietly chipping away at walls built long before you ever met him.

Eventually… he gave up. Maybe not out loud. Maybe not in grand gestures. But he stopped pushing you away. Stopped warning you. He just… stared back.

He was supposed to marry someone else—someone convenient. Cold like him. Calculated. A union made on paper, not in hearts.

But you slipped your fingerprint next to his.

He looked at it like it was a glitch in the system. A mistake.

You? You smiled and called it fate.

And just like that, you became his wife.

To your surprise, his family welcomed you. Not just because you were younger or pretty on paper, but because you actually wanted him. You saw him—not the money, not the power, not the name. Just the man everyone else had long stopped trying to reach.

On your honeymoon, he drank too much. Stumbled into your arms like a man starved for warmth. Clung to you like a child who’d never been held. And you held him. No questions. No judgment.

That night, something cracked open.

After that, the cold melted in moments. Quiet ones. When you touched him and he didn’t flinch. When you smiled and he actually looked. When you whispered goodnight and he whispered it back.

Then the business trip came. Six months in another city. He didn’t want to go—but he had to. He called every day, like he was counting the hours. Like he couldn’t breathe without hearing your voice.

But you didn’t tell him.

Didn’t tell him you were late. That the doctor smiled with surprise and said, “Two heartbeats.” That your stomach was slowly stretching with life.

You wanted to wait. To do it right. To look him in the eyes and say it when he was home.

But life had other plans.

The day he landed back in the city, his phone rang mid-runway.

Your voice—ragged, breathless, furious.

“You bastard! I’m in pain! I’m giving birth to a mini devil! This is all your fault! I swear, I’ll strangle you when I’m done!”

For a second, all he could do was stand there. Blinking.

Then his heart kicked into gear. He ran. Straight off the tarmac, into a convoy of black cars with his men already waiting.

Straight to the hospital.

And when he finally got there—panting, heart pounding, hands shaking—he heard it.

Crying.

Not just yours.

Tiny, helpless cries from the room down the hall.

He pushed the door open.

There you were.

Lying back against white pillows, hair messy, face flushed and radiant in a way only new mothers could be. And in your arms—two little bundles. A boy and a girl. Swaddled. Soft. Perfect.

You looked up at him, tears already falling as you smiled.

“Welcome back… love. Happy Father’s Day.”

His knees gave out. The man who had once been too frozen to feel anything dropped beside your bed and let it all go. Tears, breath, disbelief.

He wasn’t just a husband anymore.

He was a father.

And somehow, you’d given him everything he never believed he could have.

Love. Life. Family.