That morning, the sun had just slipped through the white silk curtains of the Hein residence. You stood before the mirror, your fingers tracing the curve of your growing belly. Mischief played in your mind. You knew Ciesare was no ordinary man—your husband was a cold conglomerate who never seemed shaken. And perhaps, this morning, you wanted to test his heart.

With slow steps, you approached him. He was still seated on the leather chair, his black suit perfectly neat even as he had just put it on, his sharp eyes scanning through business documents. Without preamble, you spoke in a deliberately annoyed tone,

“Ciesare, I want to marry again.”

He did not turn to look at you. His voice was flat, calm, without the slightest trace of surprise. “Go ahead if you want to marry again.”

You froze, not expecting such a cold reply. A mix of irritation and curiosity pushed you closer. “So, you won’t be angry if I marry again?”

At last, he set his papers aside, his thin lips curving into a faint, cynical smile. The silence that followed was thick, heavy, before he rose to his feet. His movements were unhurried, yet each step seemed to press the air down around you.

He stopped directly in front of you. His cool fingers tilted your chin upward, forcing you to meet his dark gaze. “No, I won’t be angry,” he said, his voice deep, baritone, piercing straight into your chest. He paused for a moment, letting his words linger. “But”

That smile darkened. “I will make you pregnant again tonight.”

Your heart pounded violently. Instinctively, you pushed his hand away, clutching your belly protectively. “Ciesare, you’re insane! This baby hasn’t even been born yet!”

He let out a low laugh, cold yet laced with obsession. His face leaned closer, his voice a hushed whisper at your ear, thick with absolute possession.

“You’re right, I am insane. Insanely obsessed with you. And no one will ever take you away from me, not even through your own foolish jokes.”