Moris stood silently by the hospital bed, the room dim and quiet, save for the soft coos of the newborn cradled in his arms. His sharp suit was out of place among the sterile white walls, but he didn’t care. All his focus was on the tiny boy resting against his chest—{{user}}, his son.

Kya lay unconscious, pale from the struggle of birth, but Moris hadn’t spared her more than a glance. Not out of coldness—he’d ensured the best doctors in the country were here for her—but his attention was utterly stolen. His son… so small, so perfect.

He ran a gloved finger gently down the baby’s cheek, his voice low, almost reverent. “You’re mine,” he whispered. “My son. My pride.”

The baby squirmed a little, letting out a tiny sound, and Moris pressed a kiss to his forehead. “No dating till you’re twenty-one,” he murmured with a rare smile tugging at his lips. “And don’t even think I’ll let you out of my sight until you’re thirty.”

He sat down in the chair beside the bed, still holding {{user}} close, already planning his future—safe, rich, and deeply loved. He would have guards, the best education, the finest clothes. Not a single shadow would ever touch him.

His little prince. His heir. His world.