After the meal, the weight of the stares still lingered on my skin like burning brands. The dining hall might have been left behind, but the whispers followed me in my mind, cruel and endless.
I couldn't breathe inside the Alpha's room, not with Jacob's shadow looming so heavily over me.
So I gathered my courage and asked.
"Alpha Jacob…" My voice was soft, almost timid, as I sat at the edge of the bed. He was removing his coat, his movements sharp, deliberate. "Could I… go outside for some air? Just for a little while."
He stilled, his back to me. The silence stretched long enough that I thought he would refuse.
Then he turned, eyes dark and unreadable. "Where?"
"The lake," I answered quickly, my heart racing. "It's quiet there. I could… read to the baby."
His gaze dropped to my stomach, and something flickered in his expression—pride, possessiveness, maybe even longing. But it hardened almost instantly.
"You will not go alone," he said, his voice brooking no argument.
I bit my lip. "I don't need—"
"Yes, you do." He stepped closer, towering over me until the space between us felt suffocating. His hand brushed against my cheek, startling me with its gentleness. "If you go to the lake, I will be there with you."
I wanted to protest, to tell him I didn't need a guard dog breathing down my neck. But the words died on my tongue when I looked into his eyes.
There was no bending him. No escaping him.
And strangely… a part of me didn't want to.
The lake shimmered like glass under the pale moonlight, the water calm, reflecting the scattered stars above. Crickets chirped along the reeds, their soft song filling the cool night air.
I sat on the grass, a worn book in my hands, the words meant not for me but for the tiny life inside me. My fingers traced the pages, my lips forming the stories my mother once read to me when I was a child.
Jacob stood a few feet away, a silent sentinel. His arms were crossed, his eyes scanning the tree line, but I could feel his attention pulled toward me every few seconds.
The tension of his presence should have ruined the peace I was searching for. And yet… it didn't.
When I leaned back on the grass, one hand resting protectively on my stomach, I felt a strange warmth spread through me. The baby kicked lightly, as if answering the cadence of my voice.
"Did you hear that?" I whispered, smiling faintly. "Your child can hear me now."
Jacob's head snapped toward me, his sharp features softening for a fraction of a moment. Slowly, hesitantly, he walked closer until he stood just behind me.
"What did you say?" His voice was low, almost reverent.
"That the baby can hear me," I repeated. "They say after a few months, the baby starts recognizing voices. I thought maybe… if I read to him now, he'll feel safe when he enters the world."
His eyes darkened, unreadable again. "Safe." The word rolled off his tongue like both a promise and a threat.
I hesitated, then added softly, "He should know both of us."
Jacob crouched down beside me, his large frame making the space feel smaller, more intimate. For once, he didn't look like the untouchable Alpha. He looked… human. For a moment, a picture of family crossed my mind.
I shook my head. My imagination is getting a head of me. It will affect my mood if I started looking at Jacob this way.
He reached out, his hand hovering just above my stomach before finally resting there. His palm was warm, heavy with possession.
The baby kicked again.
Jacob's lips parted in surprise, his composure cracking as his eyes widened. For the briefest second, I saw raw emotion in his expression—something powerful, almost fragile. So, he can make this kind of emotions too.
"He knows me," Jacob whispered, more to himself than to me. "My son knows me."
I swallowed hard, unsure of what to feel. Part of me wanted to pull away, to remind him that I wasn't his, that this wasn't what I wanted. But another part—deep, quiet, traitorous—found comfort in the way his hand lingered, in the way the child seemed to answer his touch.
Maybe it was the pregnancy, maybe the hormones, maybe the child inside me whispering for both his parents.
But for that moment, beneath the stars and the watchful moon, the thought of the three of us together didn't feel like a cage. It felt like a family.
I must have drifted too deep into that fantasy, because when Jacob spoke again, his voice was sharper, more dangerous.
"You will not leave my side again," he said, his eyes locking onto mine with unwavering intensity. "Where you go, I go. Where you breathe, I will breathe with you."
My heart stumbled, the fragile warmth shattering under the weight of his words.
This wasn't freedom. It was another chain, forged tighter than before.
I opened my mouth to argue, but the baby shifted within me, a soft flutter that stole my words. My hand pressed against my stomach, protective and tender.
Maybe… maybe this was what my child wanted.
For both his parents to be near.
For a home, even if it was made of shackles.
So instead of fighting him, I lowered my gaze and whispered, "Fine."
Jacob's jaw unclenched, and he exhaled as if I had just given him a victory. His hand tightened on my stomach, not harsh, but firm.
And for the first time, he whispered words that chilled me and warmed me all at once.
"We belong to each other now. All three of us."