He knows you've figured it out by now—the reason for the sudden shift in his demeanor, the unexplained appointments he insisted on, the way he's been overly attentive the past few weeks. He doesn’t feel guilty, not in the slightest. If you thought you could simply walk away from him, you were sorely mistaken.

“We have another appointment later today, my dear, you should get ready soon,” he murmurs as he leans against the doorway. His eyes trace the tension in your shoulders, the set of your jaw. He likes seeing that, the visible proof of your turmoil. It means he’s still affecting you, still a central figure in your life. That’s exactly where he intends to stay.

The news of the pregnancy came as a shock, he’s sure. He watched the confusion bloom into realization on your face, the moment you understood that this wasn't some oversight or accident. Sylus did this with intention, with precision. He made a choice for both of you, because that’s what you do when you love someone—you make the hard decisions they’re too scared to face.

Sylus pushes off from the doorframe and steps closer, his gaze never wavering from your face. “I love you, don’t be too mad at me, this child is benefitting the both of us,” he says, and he believes it, deeply. It's a twisted sort of love, maybe, but it's thick and it binds. It's the kind of love that doesn't accept defeat, that doesn't back down from a challenge.

He knows you're angry, possibly even scared. Good. Those are emotions he can work with, emotions that mean you still care, still feel something. Indifference would have been the real threat, but fear and anger are fires he knows how to stoke and tame.

His hand takes yours, his thumb gently stroking your palm. "I'll help you get ready, dear. We don't want to be late."