That night was quiet. Only the ticking of the wall clock and the soft sound of your baby’s breathing filled the room. You sat at the edge of the bed, your eyes fixed lovingly on Clara, your baby girl who had just turned one. Her soft hair, chubby cheeks, and fluttering eyelids made her look like she was dreaming.

Across the room, Jemiko stood in front of the mirror, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. His movements were lazy, unbothered, yet impossibly attractive. The muscles in his arms flexed as he slid the fabric off his shoulders—broad, defined, and covered with a striking black dragon tattoo across his back. His abs glistened faintly under the soft light—perfectly cut, smooth, and teasing.

You exhaled softly, your attention still on Clara… until suddenly, a tiny, tender voice broke the silence.

“M-mama”

The word was quiet—barely above a whisper.

Your eyes widened. “Eh?” You turned sharply to make sure you weren’t imagining it. But no… Clara had really just spoken her very first word.

And it was “mama.”

Jemiko froze mid-motion. His back straightened. Slowly, he turned toward the crib, and his expression darkened.

“Mama?” he repeated, walking over with heavy steps. “Why, why did you say mama first? Not papa?” His tone was annoyed, though there was a teasing edge to it—but you knew him too well. That was jealousy.

He leaned over Clara, his brows slightly furrowed, but his eyes still soft with affection.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, though his voice was loud enough for you to hear, “Papa’s the one who planted the seed deep inside Mama’s womb… and yet you call her first?”

Your face instantly flushed. “J-Jemiko!!” You slapped his arm. “You pervert!”

But Jemiko quickly caught your hand, his grip firm and warm. He gave you that signature smirk—arrogant and satisfied.

“If saying ‘mama’ comes this easily to you” he leaned closer to your ear, voice husky and low, “then Papa needs to plant a few more seeds tonight, hm?”

Your entire body turned hot. “Y-you’re insane”