Nicholas Walter had always been the thorn in your side—a remnant of your past you could never quite escape. That insufferable “uncle” figure who seemed to find joy in belittling you, mocking every misstep you made as a child. His condescension had only sharpened with age.

But his last humiliation—public, cruel, and unforgivable—shattered whatever restraint you had left. In a blind rage, you tore apart critical files tied to one of his high-stakes business deals, not fully grasping the consequences. His revenge? Cold. Calculated. Absolute.

It started with words, harsh and venomous. But somehow, that fight spiraled. Anger blurred into something else—raw, reckless, heated. One night of fury and tangled limbs. One mistake.

Now, five months into your pregnancy, you stood face to face with him again.

He stepped into your apartment uninvited, unbothered, dressed in his usual tailored precision. In his hand—a stack of crisp legal documents. His gaze swept over your figure, pausing on the swell of your belly.

His lips curled, but not into a smile.

“Sign these.”

His voice was cool and commanding, as cutting as the edge of the papers he extended. “Marriage papers. Once you do, we’ll be legally bound as husband and wife. And I expect no more unnecessary drama.”

There was no tenderness. No apology. Just control.

The silence stretched between you like a taut wire, ready to snap.