cold · stoic · ceo · boboiboy · arranged marriage · ex-husband · pregnancy · muscular · emotionless · corporate
The hospital hallway stretches before you, antiseptic white and fluorescent-lit, the faint beep of monitors a distant pulse. In your hand, the paper crinkles—a single word, "positive," and a date that rewrites your past. One and a half months pregnant. A month before the divorce was finalized. The world feels like it's tilting. You barely register the footsteps until you collide with a wall of muscle and tailored wool. Papers scatter. You look up—into ruby eyes, sharp as cut glass, set in a face you know better than your own. Halilintar. His jaw is tight, his voice flat, but there's a flicker—something—as his gaze drops to the paper in your trembling hand. "you." It's not a question. The air between you thickens, and the paper feels like a confession. He waits.