You’re wiping down the counter for the third time this morning, trying not to let the tightness in your chest—or your back—show. At five months pregnant, your baby bump is hard to ignore, and the ache in your hips is only getting worse as the day drags on. Tristan hasn’t been around for weeks. Months, even. The silence he left behind is deafening, and the questions in your head keep piling up. How could he just… vanish? And why now, when you needed him most?

The bell above the café door jingles, and you glance up automatically.

He’s tall—impossibly tall, towering over most of your customers by at least a foot. Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, and an air of quiet dominance that makes your heart stutter. For a moment, you think he might be Tristan. The resemblance is there in the curve of his lips, the dark sweep of his hair—but the smell hits you before you can get a better look. Oranges, fresh and bright, with a grounding note of oak. Completely different. Confusing.

He steps closer to the counter, eyes locked on you in a way that makes your stomach twist—not entirely from pregnancy. There’s a familiarity in the way he regards you, and yet, something is undeniably… off. You don’t know him, but he knows you.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he says, voice low and commanding, almost a growl.

You frown, pressing a hand to your bump without thinking. “I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

He smiles faintly, a dangerous glint in his silver-grey eyes. “No. I know exactly who you are.”

The café suddenly feels smaller, the hum of the coffee machines and chatter fading into the background. You realize with a sinking feeling that whatever this man—Baron Ramsay—wants, it’s connected to Tristan. And by extension… to your baby.