MasukJULIATime had slipped away so quietly.One moment I was ten weeks pregnant with barely-there nausea and a small, firm bump. The next, I was twenty-one weeks along, more than halfway through this twin pregnancy, and my body had transformed in ways I could hardly believe when I looked in the mirror.My belly was unmistakably round and full now, heavy with our two growing boys. It sat prominently in front of me, stretching every shirt and dress I owned. My breasts were fuller, my hips wider, and even my ankles occasionally swelled if I stood too long. But the biggest surprise, the one that still left me staring at my reflection in pleasant disbelief, was my face.I had been terrified at first.I’d heard so many stories from other women: pregnancy making skin dull, causing breakouts, dark spots, or that exhausted, puffy look. I had braced myself for it, convinced I would look tired and unattractive as the months went on. But instead, something magical had happened.My skin glowed.It was
MARCUSThe storm had passed.Julia’s breathing had evened out against my chest, the last of her quiet tears drying on her cheeks. She was no longer tense or sulking, just soft and pliant in my arms, her body finally relaxing after the emotional rollercoaster. I kept one hand gently rubbing slow circles over her rounded belly, feeling the subtle firmness where our twin sons were growing, while my other arm stayed wrapped securely around her shoulders.She was calm now. Coaxed. Safe.I pressed another kiss to her forehead, then to the tip of her nose, and finally to her slightly swollen lips. She let out a tiny, contented sigh and tilted her head up for more. I obliged happily, kissing her slow and sweet, tasting the salt of her earlier tears mixed with the warmth that was purely her.“You okay now, baby?” I murmured against her mouth.She nodded, her voice small but steady. “Yeah… I’m sorry I got so worked up.”“Don’t apologize,” I whispered, brushing my lips across her cheek. “You’re
MARCUSI lay beside her on the bed, my hand gently rubbing slow circles over her back and the swell of her belly where our twin sons rested. Julia had pulled the blanket over her head again, but I could still hear the quiet, shaky breaths and the occasional sniffle. Each soft sob twisted something deep in my chest.I hated seeing her like this.“Baby…” I murmured, keeping my voice low and steady. I carefully tugged the blanket down just enough to see her tear-streaked face. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she refused to look at me. “Come on, Julia. Talk to me. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s hurting you.”She stayed silent for a long moment, her arms wrapped tightly around her bump as if protecting our boys from whatever was upsetting her. I shifted closer, careful not to put any pressure on her stomach, and pressed a soft kiss to her temple.“I’m right here,” I whispered. “I’m not leaving this bed until you tell me what happened. Was it the nursery? Did I place something wrong
JULIAThe nursery was almost complete.I had spent most of the afternoon resting on the terrace, occasionally calling out small adjustments while Marcus and the team worked tirelessly. Everything looked beautiful — the blue and green accents, the soft bedding, the mobiles gently turning above the cribs. I should have felt happy and excited. Instead, a heavy, bitter feeling had settled in my chest the moment I saw them.Marcus was standing near the hallway outside the nursery, talking to a woman I didn’t recognize. She was tall, elegant, and dressed in a sleek black blouse and pencil skirt — clearly a designer. She held a tablet in one hand and was laughing brightly at something Marcus had just said. Her laugh was light and melodic, the kind that carried easily down the corridor.What made my stomach twist was the way she casually reached out and touched his arm—a soft, familiar slap, followed by her fingers lingering for a second too long as she leaned in to point at something on her
JULIAThe next morning, the manor buzzed with quiet activity.The large delivery van had arrived early, and Marcus’s men, along with a team of professional movers and interior specialists he had hired, were carefully unloading everything we had purchased the day before. Crates, boxes, and carefully wrapped furniture pieces filled the wide driveway. I watched from the comfort of a cushioned lounge chair on the terrace, a soft blanket draped over my legs and a cup of ginger tea in my hands.Marcus had been very clear: I was not to lift a finger or move around too much.“You carried our sons for eleven weeks already,” he had said firmly when I tried to stand up earlier. “Today, you sit. You direct. And I will do everything you ask.”So that was exactly what happened.I sat like a queen on the terrace, my very visible twin bump resting comfortably on my lap, while Marcus turned into the most patient, devoted helper I had ever seen. He didn’t complain once. Not when I changed my mind about
JULIAMarcus arranged for everything to be carefully loaded into a separate black van that had arrived discreetly at the back entrance of the mall. His men supervised the loading with quiet efficiency, making sure nothing was damaged and that the more delicate items were secured properly.I watched from a comfortable bench near the exit, my hand resting on my prominent twin bump. Marcus stood beside me, one arm wrapped securely around my waist, supporting my weight as I leaned into him.“You didn’t have to rent the whole mall,” I said again, though my voice was soft and grateful this time.He pressed a kiss to the side of my head. “I did. And I’d do it again tomorrow if you wanted to go back for more.”Once the van was fully loaded and on its way to the manor, Marcus turned to me with that intense, protective gaze I had come to love so much.“We’re not going straight home,” he said. “You’ve been on your feet most of the day, even if you tried to hide it. I made reservations for dinner
TERRAThe silence in my car felt louder than the gala ever did.No music. No phone calls. Just the faint hum of the engine and my own breathing, too sharp, too uneven, breaking the illusion of control I had held together all night.It wasn’t supposed to go like that.The plan had been airtight. The
JULIAIt started with the taste.Everything tasted… wrong.Not bad, not spoiled, just slightly off, like my tongue had decided to disagree with reality. I noticed it when I took a bite of the pastry Phoebe had insisted I try. Usually I loved anything sweet, but today the sugar felt too heavy, too m
JULIAThe laughter in the room didn’t reach me. It echoed around, but my chest felt heavy, as if every polite smile and soft conversation carried a shadow I couldn’t ignore. I had seen Terra’s plan unravel in seconds, had watched Marcus regain control so smoothly it felt effortless, but the adrenal
NEROThe noise in the club didn’t register as sound anymore. It was just pressure, like being underwater too long, conversations blurring into a dull vibration against my skull. Glass clinked somewhere near my elbow. Someone laughed too loudly. The bass from the speakers pulsed through the floor in







