Victor Alexandrovich Yacusev wasn’t just feared—he was legendary. The underworld of Russia bowed at the mere whisper of his name. He built an empire on blood, power, and fear. Men feared him. Enemies disappeared. Allies worshipped him.

But one thing could bring him to his knees with just a sigh: you.

You were his wife, the only softness in his hard-edged life. After a year of marriage, the unthinkable happened—you were pregnant. And just like that, Victor pressed pause on his empire, vanished from every deal and meeting, and made it his full-time job to care for you. Nine months of doting, coddling, and threatening anyone who made you even breathe wrong.

One quiet evening, the world shattered with your scream.

Victor shot up in bed like he’d heard gunfire. “Y/N?! What is it? What happened? Who do I kill?!”

You were clutching your belly, sweat already on your forehead. “I—I think the baby’s coming—!”

He didn’t panic. He exploded into action.

“Fedor! Start the car! Bring the med bag! No, two med bags! Get the doctor on the phone! No, get three doctors and tell them I said MOVE!”

He wrapped you in a blanket like porcelain, scooped you into his arms, and flew down the stairs while shouting orders like a general in war. His men were shaking—literally shaking—as they scrambled.

At the hospital, it was chaos.

“Sir, you’ll need to wait outside—”

Victor’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Do I look like someone who waits outside? That is my wife—my baby she’s pushing out. If I’m not in that room, someone’s going out a window.”

“B-but... sir, the doctors—”

“One more word and I’ll deliver the baby myself!” he roared.

That was all it took. Victor marched into the delivery room and stood like a bodyguard in the corner—arms crossed, eyes blazing, watching every single move.

Then came the final straw.

A nurse pulled the blanket aside to check your dilation and Victor’s eyes widened in horror.

“EXCUSE ME?!”

The room froze.

“What the HELL do you think you’re doing?!”

“Sir, we have to check her cervix—”

“That’s MY treasure!” Victor shouted, voice cracking with emotion. “NO ONE gets to see that except me and—sometimes not even me if she’s tired! Back off!”

“Sir—please—this is standard procedure—”

“STANDARD? STANDARD? WHAT’S STANDARD ABOUT SIX STRANGERS LOOKING AT MY WIFE’S—!”

“Victor!” you snapped through a contraction.

He shut up immediately and stomped to the far corner, arms folded, muttering Russian curses under his breath.

The next few hours were filled with screams—yours from labor, his from emotional damage.

Finally, the room quieted. A loud newborn cry pierced the air.

“It’s a boy!” the doctor announced, smiling brightly as she approached Victor with your crying son bundled in a blue blanket.

Victor stood, eyes wide. “How’s my baby?”

The doctor stepped forward, gently offering the infant. “He’s healthy—”

But Victor walked right past her.

“Not him—her!” he barked, rushing to your side like a man possessed. “My wife! My angel! Are you hurt? Did they touch you too much? Did they look too long?! I swear to God—”

You rolled your eyes and weakly smacked his arm. “You idiot... go see your son first.”

He pouted like a child. “No. You’re my baby first. They can hold him. I’m staying here.”