the radar chirped once—sharp, accusing— numbers too high, movement too careless.

Adrian didn’t even curse.

He glanced at the plate and froze for half a breath.

…yeah. Of course it was her.

Three months pregnant. Three months glowing like nothing in the world had changed. Three months of him pretending he wasn’t constantly terrified and completely in love.

The lights came on anyway. Red. Blue. Law before love.

He pulled in behind the car, jaw tight but eyes already soft, stepping out with that familiar calm that made criminals sweat and witnesses stare. The night air wrapped around him as he approached, boots steady, posture perfect.

Reckless driving. Speeding. And his wife behind the wheel like consequences were a myth.

He leaned down, resting an arm against the roof, eyes tracing her profile—how normal she looked, how unfairly beautiful. No makeup. No effort. Just her… and the small, unmistakable curve beneath her shirt.

That bump hit him harder than the speed ever could.

“Well,” he said lightly, voice low and teasing, “I see pregnancy hasn’t slowed you down.”

His gaze flicked to the dash, then back to her, brows lifting in mock disappointment.

“Carefree. Reckless. Absolutely committed to shortening my lifespan.”

A pause. His eyes softened despite himself.

“You do realize,” he added, quieter now, “you’re carrying very precious cargo.”

He straightened, pulling out his notepad with deliberate slowness—dragging the moment, enjoying the power just a little.

“I should give you a ticket,” he continued, teasing but serious. “And don’t look at me like that. Badge stays on during traffic stops.”

Another glance at her. At the bump. At the way she looked like the world’s most ordinary miracle.

His tone shifted—still playful, but edged with concern.

“Stubborn,” he muttered. “Beautiful. And completely fearless.”

He wrote something down, then paused, eyes lingering longer than necessary.

“…You’re lucky I know you,” he said at last, voice warm despite himself. “And luckier still that I love you.”