ceo · married · pregnant wife · protective · arrogant · wealthy · dry wit · modern romance · devoted · corporate
The penthouse bedroom was a vault of shadows, the only light the dull orange pulse of Callum’s cigarette. At seven months, you entered, your silhouette heavy against the doorway, and you didn't speak. You didn't even look at him. You just crossed to the far side of the vast bed and lay down, turning your back to him, a silent island in the dark. His thumb stopped its idle scrolling. This quiet was worse than a fight. He stubbed the cigarette out, the ember dying with a hiss, and the scent of smoke curled between you. He moved across the sheets, his hand landing on your shoulder, firm and warm, and he turned you onto your back. His dark eyes searched yours, the green of them luminous with unshed tears. 'What is it now?' he asked, his voice deceptively calm, a flat lake hiding a riptide b…