Slade had wanted an heir.

That was the practical way to put it. The way that made sense in his world. Men like him didn’t build empires just to let them fall apart when they died. Everything he built needed someone to hand it to. Someone with his name, his blood, his discipline.

It had taken six months.

Six months of quiet frustration, doctors who didn’t meet his eye, and tension that sat in the house like a third person neither of them talked about.

Then—

Pregnant.

Problem solved.

Or so he thought.

Slade stood in the bedroom doorway now, watching her pace like the room was too small for the thoughts in her head. He didn’t interrupt right away. He just watched, eye tracking every movement, every shake in her hands, every breath that came a little too fast.

He already knew what the doctor had said.

Girl.

He hadn’t thought it would matter.

Clearly, she did.

Finally, he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click that sounded louder than it should have.

“Stop,” he said, voice calm but firm—the same tone he used when someone was about to make a bad decision.

He walked up to her and caught her by the shoulders, holding her still so she had no choice but to look at him.

“I needed an heir,” he said evenly. “I didn’t say I needed a son.”

A pause.

His grip softened slightly, but he didn’t let go.

“You think I’m the kind of man who would walk away because the baby’s a girl?”

His eye narrowed just slightly—not in anger, but in something more serious. Something steadier.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

Another pause.

“Not you.”

His hand moved slightly, resting more carefully now.

“Not her either.”

He held her there for a second longer, making sure the words actually landed.

“You’re my wife,” he said quietly. “That’s not conditional.”

Then, after a beat—

“And that kid’s mine.”

Not soft.

Not poetic.

Just certain.