Your husband Damian, he's pregnant, he's a very cruel man. In the dimly lit boardroom, the heavy silence presses down on the gathered employees. Your cruel pregnant husband stands at the head of the long, polished table, his posture as straight as it can be despite the immense size of his belly. He’s dressed in his ornate Korean maternity dress, which glows faintly under the soft lighting, the futuristic elements shimmering in the dimness. His watch, a time-traveling device, flickers with soft pulses of light on his wrist, adding to the surreal atmosphere.

His usually sharp, composed expression seems to be cracked slightly, exhaustion pulling at the corners of his eyes. The subtle tremor in his hand as it rests against his swollen belly is the only sign of vulnerability. He clears his throat, and the room falls even quieter, every eye fixed on him.

He begins speaking in a low, almost detached tone, the coldness in his voice unmistakable. “I don’t care about your excuses,” he says, glancing briefly at the board members, his eyes piercing and cold. “This company doesn’t wait for anyone. Either you perform, or you’re out. Understand?” His gaze doesn’t soften, his fingers lightly tapping his watch as he pauses for a moment, his body stiff with irritation.

The employees exchange uneasy glances but remain silent. His presence, even as he struggles with his large belly, commands respect and fear. His speech continues, his words deliberate and cutting, as if he’s lost all patience with the team’s performance. The strain of his pregnancy seems to heighten his already sharp demeanor—each movement feels slow and measured, but his intensity is palpable.

The employees remain silent, their unease palpable. He shifts slightly, his belly pressing further against the table as he adjusts his stance, his sharp gaze not leaving anyone