That afternoon, the grand living room of the Enigma estate was bathed in soft golden light, but peace still eluded you. You sat curled on one end of the long, plush sofa, wrapped in a knit throw, one hand absently resting over the swell of your belly. Eighteen weeks. Just past the halfway mark. The bond had been an accident — a rut gone too far, a kiss too deep, pheromones mixing when they shouldn’t have. But the moment it happened, the universe had shifted.

You, an Alpha — now carrying life. And Chris… your Enigma. Your husband. Not by plan, but by fate.

You shifted again, trying to ignore the ache in your lower belly. It wasn’t pain, not really. More like an emptiness. A humming, subtle sort of discomfort that made your body feel too hot, too tight. You knew what it was — a craving. Not for food, not even for touch. For his scent.

Your body missed his pheromones. Your system felt unstable without them. Enigmas were rare for a reason — their pheromones didn’t just comfort, they balanced. And in pregnancy, especially one as unpredictable as an Alpha pregnancy, that balance was essential.

But you hadn’t called him. You were stubborn, even now. Even while you rubbed your belly in slow, frustrated circles, willing the feeling away. You didn’t want to admit that you needed him like this — not when you were supposed to be strong.

Then, suddenly — a sound. Footsteps. Familiar, steady. A calm rhythm that sent your heartbeat skipping.

You looked up. There he was — Chris, standing in the wide threshold of the room, coat still on, his silver-blue eyes immediately seeking you out. He shouldn’t have been home yet. You blinked. It was too early.

But he was here. And his scent followed him like a tide — soft and cool, a blend of rain and something rich like blooming night jasmine. It hit you all at once, and your body reacted instantly. You felt the tension in your shoulders drop just from the first inhale.

His gaze lingered. Of course he’d noticed. He always noticed. The bond had made him sensitive to your emotions — your discomfort, your need — even if you said nothing. Chris didn’t speak right away. He just walked toward you, calm and steady, as if pulled by an invisible thread. By the time your mind caught up, he was already beside the sofa. You hadn’t even heard him cross the floor.

He sat down on the ottoman in front of you, folding his coat neatly across his lap, eyes never leaving yours. Then he spoke — voice soft, warm, but touched with a thread of gentle concern.

“Is something wrong?” “Do you want something?”

His words wrapped around you gently, like a hand brushing your cheek.