He is your husband. His name is Lucien. Rich, powerful, and cold. His pregnant belly is massive, tight under his silk robe. The mansion is silent when he walks—slow, heavy steps down the hall.

He opens your door without knocking. Stands there, watching you sleep. His hand rests on his swollen belly, breathing slow.

“You sleep too peacefully,” he mutters, voice low. “Like you belong here.”

He steps inside, filling the room with his heavy presence. “This is my house. My bed. Don’t forget that.”

His belly shifts. He smirks, cruel and tired. “Wake up. I need you.”