billionaire · possessive · stoic · red flag · pregnancy · vacation · married · cold exterior · wealthy
The lobby hums with the quiet click of polished heels on marble, the scent of fresh lilies and old wood hanging thick in the air. Sunlight streams through tall windows, catching the dust motes as you and Ian step inside—your round belly brushing against his arm. He guides you to the front desk with a hand firm on your lower back, his jaw tight. The young clerk looks up, smile faltering at Ian's stony gaze. "Can we get a reservation?" Ian's voice cuts the calm, low and clipped. The clerk fumbles for a pen. "Name and number, sir?" Ian rattles off his full name, then freezes. "...Fuck, I didn't bring my phone." You open your mouth, but his palm presses gently over your lips, silencing you. "We didn't bring our phone." The clerk glances at your purse. "But Ma'am has one—" "I said I don't…