Killian’s POV Nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared me for the wreckage a baby leaves behind. I mean that in the most beautiful and soul-obliterating way possible. Gone were the neat routines, the late-night work calls, and the quickie office rendezvous that had defined so much of my life with Emma. In their place: a tiny tyrant with lungs like a siren and a poop schedule more erratic than the stock market. I hadn’t slept more than three consecutive hours in weeks. My shirts always had some kind of stain—milk, spit-up, God knew what else. And yet… I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not when I got to see Emma like this—hair messy, dark circles under her eyes, but with a softness in her gaze every time she looked at our daughter. That woman… she was made to be a mother. And yet, I could still see it—the wildness in her. The same fire that had tormented me in lect
Emma’s POV I wasn’t supposed to go into labor today. That’s the thought that kept bouncing around my head as my water broke in the middle of a quarterly board meeting. At first, I thought I’d peed myself. Elegant, I know. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, hoping to God no one noticed the subtle pool of liquid soaking into my pale beige slacks. Killian had just finished presenting a quarterly report with his usual calm, calculated brilliance. He glanced my way as he took his seat beside me, shooting a discreet smirk that said, Nailed it. I was just about to lean over to whisper something flirty in return when the first real contraction hit. Holy. Shit. My entire abdomen clenched like a steel vice, and a sharp gasp escaped before I could swallow it. Killian’s smirk disappeared instantly. His chair scraped back. “Emma?” “I think…” I sucked
Killian’s POVI never thought I’d spend a Sunday afternoon arguing about wallpaper.“Why is everything floral?” I muttered, holding up a sample that looked like a bouquet had vomited on it. “Is this baby going to be eighty?”Emma snatched it from my hand with a dramatic eye-roll. “It’s called vintage chic, Killian. Not everything has to be minimal and broody like your wardrobe.”I gave her a look. “You mean tasteful?”“You mean monochrome depression,” she shot back, smirking.God, even now—seven months pregnant, belly perfectly round beneath one of my old shirts, hair twisted in a bun that was fighting to stay up—she was stunning. And terrifying.We were standing in what used to be the guest suite, now half-painted in a soft blush tone, with boxes of baby furniture scattered across the floor. Emma had gone full Pinterest-board meets luxury interior designer, and I was just trying to keep up.“She’s not goin
Emma’s POV I wanted something simple. A small gathering. Close friends. Just Killian and me in the backyard, popping a balloon or cutting a cake. Something understated, maybe even private. But the moment my father got wind of the idea, it spiraled into a full-blown event. Caterers, photographers, floral installations, a drone team—yes, a drone team. “This isn’t a merger,” I muttered under my breath as I walked through the estate’s garden, watching the staff string up pastel-colored lanterns. “It kind of is,” Killian said beside me, adjusting his tie. “A merger of DNA.” I shot him a glare, but couldn’t help smiling. Damn him. Even now, while I was hormonal and annoyed and bloated, he still found a way to make me laugh. Of course, my father was at the center of the chaos, giving orders and ensuring the media got “a glimpse of the future Scott heir.” I didn’t want this to
Emma’s POV The irony of it all is that I fought so hard to keep Killian in my life, only to now struggle with feeling like we’re slipping away from each other. Not emotionally, no. He’s still my partner, still the one I glance toward in every meeting, still the man I trust more than anyone. But physically… intimately? Pregnancy doesn’t come with a manual for preserving desire. I stare at myself in the mirror before bed, hand instinctively resting on the growing swell of my belly. The woman staring back at me is softer. Rounder. More exhausted than she wants to admit. I’ve always been so polished—flawless makeup, heels that clicked like power with every step. Now I live in oversized shirts and struggle to stay awake past nine. Killian walks in, tie loosened, his expression tired but affectionate. “Hey,” he says softly, eyes flickering to my bare legs. “You look beautiful.” I don’t fee
Emma’s POV I never thought a single sentence could feel so heavy. “I’m pregnant.” Two words. Three syllables. Yet it felt like I had just thrown a live grenade into the middle of my father’s pristine office. He stared at me across his desk, expression unreadable. My fingers curled into the fabric of my blouse, hiding the slight swell beneath. He hadn’t noticed it before—hadn’t pieced together the extra breaks I took, or how I avoided coffee and alcohol at events. But now… now the truth hung in the air, undeniable and irreversible. “You’re what?” he said, voice low and dangerously calm. I swallowed. “Pregnant, Dad. I’m pregnant. Killian and I are expecting.” The silence that followed could’ve cracked glass. His jaw flexed. “And you’re telling me this now because…?” “Because I wanted to be sure. Because it’s our life—not yours. And because I