The morning sunlight filtered softly into the villa, warming the wooden floors and filling the air with a quiet stillness. She stood near the window, one hand resting absently on her stomach as she watched the garden below.
Something fluttered inside her.
A soft, unexpected push — like a tiny tap from inside.
She froze.
Was that…?
Her eyes widened. She pressed her palm more firmly to her stomach.
There it was again. A gentle, but unmistakable movement.
A breath caught in her throat. Her heart fluttered as wildly as the small life inside her.
"Little one…" she whispered, half laughing, half crying.
Behind her, footsteps approached — light, but purposeful.
He entered the room, holding a stack of documents he pretended to read, though his eyes immediately went to her.
"Are you alright?" he asked, noticing her expression.
Her breath trembled as she turned to him. "I… I think the baby moved."
Everything in him stilled.
The papers slipped slightly in his hand. His eyes widened — shock, disbelief, hope, all tangled together.
"What?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
She nodded quickly, placing her hand again on her stomach. "Here. It was—"
He crossed the room so fast she barely saw him move. The documents were abandoned on the table. He stopped right in front of her, eyes dark, intense, soft all at once.
"May I…?" he asked, voice unsteady, unsure, almost shy.
She took his hand gently and guided it to her stomach.
Silence.
Stillness.
Then—
A small kick.
His breath hitched — a sharp inhale, like the air had punched into him. His fingers pressed more firmly, but tenderly, terrified of hurting her.
Again. Another little movement.
His lips parted, and he blinked fast as if he didn't trust what he felt.
"Is… is that… really…?" he whispered.
"Yes," she murmured.
His whole face changed — softened, brightened, came alive in a way she had never seen before. Something melted in him, something deep and powerful.
A low, shaky laugh escaped him — a sound of pure joy.
"My child…" he whispered, eyes shining.
He sank to one knee without thinking, both hands now on her belly, his forehead pressing gently against it.
"Hey," he murmured to the tiny life inside. "It's your father."
She swallowed thickly, watching him, her heart swelling at the tenderness she never imagined he could show.
He looked up at her, voice trembling with emotion he couldn't hide.
"Thank you," he whispered. "For… for carrying my child. For giving me this."
Her cheeks warmed. "You don't need to thank me."
"I do," he said, standing and cupping her face with surprising delicacy. "I really do."
Another small kick pushed against his palm — like the baby responded to his voice.
His eyes widened again, and a grin — a real, unguarded grin — broke across his face.
He pulled her into a careful embrace, holding her like she was the most precious thing he had ever touched.
"I want to feel him more," he murmured against her hair. "Every day. Every time the baby moves — tell me. Wake me if you have to."
She laughed softly. "I will."
He kept his hands on her stomach longer than necessary, mesmerized, protective, glowing with pride.
And in that moment, she saw it clearly:
He wasn't just a fierce beastman heir.
He wasn't just a panther with claws and instincts.
He was a father.
And nothing had ever mattered to him more.
The late afternoon sun spilled through the tall, arched windows of the villa, painting the room in soft gold. She sat on the cushioned bench near the balcony doors, absent-mindedly stroking the fabric stretched over her growing belly. The past few days had been calmer—after the fight with his father, after their talk, after the silent agreements that had settled between them like warm dust.
She was just breathing slowly, letting her thoughts drift…
…when something fluttered.
A tiny, sudden movement under her palm.
Her breath caught.
She pressed her hand lightly again.
There—another soft tap, like a tiny hand knocking from inside.
Her heart thundered.
"...Lian?" she called, voice trembling—not from fear, but from the overwhelming realization that this was real. The little life inside her was no longer just a promise. It was a presence.
He was across the room sorting scrolls, but the moment he heard her tone he froze, sharp instincts instantly awake.
He rushed toward her. "What is it? Are you in pain? Do you need—"
She shook her head quickly, grabbing his wrist and placing it over her stomach.
"Shh. Just feel."
He held still. His brows were furrowed in worry at first—then suddenly his eyes widened, breath stopping.
"What… was that?" His voice cracked softly.
"The baby," she whispered, smiling with watery eyes. "I think he—or she—just moved."
He dropped to his knees without thinking, both hands now gently cupped around her belly as if holding the world's most fragile treasure. His touch was warm and reverent.
Again—a flutter. A little roll.
His smile broke out uncontrollably. "That was—! That was definitely a kick! Tiny, but—gods…" He laughed under his breath, the sound full of disbelief and joy mixed together. "They're strong already."
She placed her hand on his hair. "You're shaking."
"Of course I'm shaking," he breathed, leaning his forehead softly against her stomach. "That's my child… our child. I never—" His voice was thick. He swallowed hard. "I never thought something like this could make me feel… calm. And terrified. And happy. All at once."
She watched him, her chest warming.
He wasn't the cold heir people whispered about. Not with her. Not now.
He lifted his face, and she could see a softness in his eyes that he rarely let anyone witness.
"May I…?" His hand hovered hesitantly, like he was asking permission to keep touching her.
"You may," she said gently.
He exhaled in relief and placed his palm again on her stomach. With every little movement, he grinned like a child opening gifts; with every still moment, he whispered something under his breath to the baby as if trying to coax another kick.
"You know," she teased quietly, "you're getting a little obsessed."
"Obsessed?" He lifted an eyebrow but couldn't suppress the smile. "If it weren't inappropriate, I'd follow you all day with my ear pressed to your belly."
She laughed softly. "That would make walking difficult."
"I'd carry you then," he replied instantly.
She rolled her eyes but her lips curved. "Of course you would."
He leaned closer, brushing his cheek lightly against her belly, almost nuzzling. "I want to feel everything," he murmured. "Every kick, every roll. I want to know when they sleep, when they stretch, when they—" He paused, embarrassed for the first time. "I'm sorry. I'm being too much."
She lifted his chin with her fingers, surprising herself.
"You're not too much. You're… cute."
He blinked in astonishment.
"Cute?" He repeated like the word had personally insulted his warrior pride.
"Yes," she laughed. "Cute. You're supposed to be this harsh, commanding heir, but right now you're just a soft, emotional father with sparkly eyes."
He stared at her, then buried his face in her lap with a groan.
"Please don't say 'sparkly eyes.' My father would disown me."
She ran her fingers through his hair, calming him. "Well, good thing I'm not talking to your father."
He sighed and turned his head slightly so his cheek rested against her thigh.
"You make me feel… different," he admitted quietly. "Not weaker. But gentler. Like I don't have to act like a stone wall all the time."
She felt a warmth spread through her chest. "You don't. Not with me."
He looked up at her with that softness again—raw, vulnerable, hopeful.
For a moment, the room was completely still except for the tiny, rhythmic flutter under her skin.
Then another kick came, stronger this time.
He gasped. "Did you see that? They're greeting me."
"Yes," she teased, "because you talk too much."
"They should get used to it," he said proudly. "Their father is extremely wise."
"Or extremely dramatic."
He put a hand over his heart. "I feel attacked."
She laughed again, reaching out to smooth the line between his brows. "Relax. Come here."
He obeyed immediately, resting his head against her stomach again, arms gently circling her waist as if shielding both her and the baby. His voice was a low whisper when he spoke again, to the child:
"I'm here. Always. You are safe. And your mother…" He swallowed. "She is everything."
Her breath hitched.
The baby kicked once more—as if agreeing.