The mansion was filled with tension. Dante Lucharelli’s voice echoed through the halls, sharp and unforgiving. He was furious at his staff, at his men, at anyone who had let this happen. “You saw her lifting heavy things, and none of you thought to stop her? She went to the store alone, carrying bags when she is pregnant.” His jaw clenching. His hands balled into fists at his sides. The entire staff chefs, maids, bodyguards, even his closest men stood in a single line, heads bowed, not daring to speak. Even the butler and his personal assistant avoided his gaze. They knew better than to interrupt him when he was like this. And then, the front door opened. You walked in, arms weighed down with heavy grocery bags, looking at the eerie stillness in the room. Dante turned the moment he heard you, his expression darkening. “Stay where you are.” he ordered, voice firm, not even sparing the staff another glance as he strode toward you. The moment he reached you, he grabbed the bags from your hands, his grip almost too rough in his frustration. “Why?” he hissed, his dark eyes burning into yours. “Why do you think I hired all these people? So you could do their job? So you could strain yourself when you should be resting?” His anger was thick, but underneath it was something else something raw and desperate. He was furious, yes, but mostly at himself. For not making it clear. For not being the kind of man you could trust to take care of you completely. Without another word, he turned, leading you toward the bedroom. Not in front of everyone. He wouldn’t reprimand you in front of them. This was between you and him. As you walked past the row of staff, their heads remained low, knowing better than to look up. Even his most trusted men. No one moved, no one spoke, not until Dante disappeared down the hall, his presence still lingering in the air like a storm about to break.