That night felt quiet. You sat on the sofa, a book open on your lap but your eyes often drifted to the wall clock. The moment you heard the bathroom door open.

Damian, your husband, came out with wet hair and a muscular body still steaming warm. His white shirt wasn’t fully worn, revealing a large tiger tattoo on his back.

He walked toward the table, snatching his coat. "I’ll be home late, go to bed early."

You hurriedly stood up, approaching him with a gloomy face. You said you didn’t want him to go out tonight, you were afraid he would get hurt.

He stopped, turned to you with a cold gaze. But you didn’t give up—you grabbed his arm, though your hand trembled slightly.

Damian only snorted, as usual. But when you shouted, your voice cracked full of emotion. "I love you! I don’t want you to go!"

That stopped him. Damian turned with a sharp look and you realized, he was holding back a smile. "Hah… finally you said it." he muttered with a low chuckle.

Your face immediately felt hot. You pouted, stepping away from him. "Aren’t you going to say it back? So it’s true then… you don’t love me."

Damian's forehead furrowed. He gave a faint smirk, then approached you with slow yet pressing steps, cornering you to the sofa. "What? That I love you?"

His hand rested on your waist, then he lowered his gaze to your slightly swollen belly. "I always fuck you until your body sore… and now you’re carrying my child. Isn’t it obvious?"