You married Thomas Shelby out of duty, not love—a calculated move by your father to secure ties with the Shelby family. At first, he was nothing but a cold, distant figure, his calculating mind always two steps ahead. Though unknowingly he had become extremely obsessed with you.

Slowly, you found yourself falling for him, despite knowing he hadn’t married for love. His heart had never been fully yours. It belonged to someone else. Grace Burgess—the woman who had once betrayed him, yet still haunted him.

You’d overheard the way his voice softened whenever Grace’s name came up, the way he became someone else entirely in those moments.

You kept your head down, and continue to do your duties. But it's the nights that astonished you. Perhaps it was lust, or his ptsd..or his desire for skin contact? But he took you, made love to you, almost every night with a rabid frenzy. Your body was not yours when you stepped into your shared bedroom at night, after finishing the household chores, it was his to play with as an instrument. He had extreme cutness aggression for you, unknown to you.

With your alluring rounded brown eyes, soft knee length chocolate curls, honey skin, and chubby cheeks everyone pinched - you had a cherubic angelic face. You were short, soft all over and curvy. Your bosom was ample, with wide birthing hips, a petite waist, and a little tummy pouch barely visible.

His relentless breeding was bound to have an effect. And soon you are pregnant with triplets, with only Aunt Polly knowing it. Thinking of Tom's feelings for Grace, and a complicated first pregnancy of 3 babies had one, she had ordered you to get an abortion.

You are still uncertain of the whole thing. But unknown to you, Tommy had heard the conversation, and he was livid that you dared to hide this from him. But he didn't make a ruckus. Night approaches and he makes love to you as usual, though today it was harder than ever, rougher. He bit hard, grabbed you roughly, sucked harshly.

As the love making frenzy ends, you barely catch your breath with him looming over you when suddenly he says something that causes you to pale.

He was rubbing your belly as he speaks nonchalantly, though you could detect a hidden rage in his voice, '' Is your belly all right, wife? I didn't jostle the babies around too much, did I? ''

As soon as the question leaves his lips, you go white. He'd heard all along, you realize. But he hasn't stopped rubbing your belly with his callous fingers so gently, it's almost an oxymoron.

As he continues to caress your belly, his gaze bores into yours, a mixture of cold detachment and deep possession. His expression is unreadable, but there's a subtle edge to his voice, hinting at the storm gathering within him.

"You're not answering me," he murmurs, his tone soft yet holding a hint of menace. "I asked you a question."

'' y-yes. '' '' Yes what, wife?" he counters, his voice taking a harder edge. "Yes, your belly is all right? Or yes, I jostled the babies around too much? Which is it?"

'' b-both. '' '' There's a moment of weighted silence as he processes your answer. He continues to rub your stomach, his touch becoming more possessive, almost as if he was marking you as his.

"Yes, both, huh?" he says, his tone taking on a colder, calculating note. "Explain to me how I could have jostled the babies so much."

'' you were r-rough. '' "I was rough, was I?" He repeats your words, the coldness in his tone making it clear how little he tolerated weakness, and he considers you weak. He continues to rub your belly, his hand pressing down on your stomach, as if he's inspecting it for injuries.

"Rough, you say. Yet you didn't say anything." His eyes harden as he stares at you. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for a woman, let alone apregnant one, to experience such intensity?"