After that explosive confrontation, Emma fell silent.
She stopped trying to talk to Gu Liang about the child. No more provocations. No more tests. It was as if someone had drained her of all aggression—leaving her quiet, even… hollow.
But inside, a storm was raging.
Gu Liang's icy words had shattered the self-centered world she'd built for years. For the first time, she was forced to face the full weight of her actions—how reckless, how cruel, how deeply damaging they had been.
"A father like you."
That phrase haunted her. She couldn't stop imagining— If the child grew up hearing those words, What kind of disgust and contempt would they feel toward her?
To be a mother who wasn't needed. Who wasn't recognized. That thought terrified her more than any business failure or marital collapse.
The Alpha instinct— To protect the marked Omega and their offspring— Which had once been buried beneath shock, denial, and rage, Now began to stir. Quietly. Stubbornly.
She couldn't let this happen.
She couldn't let her child be born into a world twisted by hatred. She couldn't let Gu Liang carry it all alone—no matter what he said.
She had made mistakes. She had to take responsibility. Not to earn forgiveness—she knew that was impossible. But for the innocent child. And for the last shred of conscience she still had.
This awakening changed everything.
She began noticing Gu Liang's routines. His morning sickness was intense. He could barely eat breakfast. His face always looked tired. He worked late—juggling First Heart Capital and the strain of pregnancy.
A strange, bittersweet tenderness began to grow.
She stopped relying solely on the housekeeper and cook. She started making small, clumsy changes.
She contacted a nutritionist. Adjusted the household menu for early-stage Omega pregnancy. She asked the cook to prepare lighter, easier-to-digest meals. She added foods to ease nausea—lemon honey water, ginger milk.
She didn't tell Gu Liang. She just watched silently as the cook placed the new items in front of him.
He looked surprised. Lifted his eyes to her—curious, guarded. But said nothing. He accepted it.
Emma also noticed his sensitivity to smells. One night, after a business dinner, she came home with faint traces of smoke and alcohol. Gu Liang immediately frowned. His face darkened. He said nothing—just left the room.
After that, Emma became meticulous. She left events early. Washed thoroughly. Changed clothes. Made sure no scent lingered.
She even adjusted her work schedule. Came home on time. Stayed in the living room, working quietly— So if anything happened, she'd be there.
One night, she woke to faint sounds. She found Gu Liang curled on the sofa, pale, drenched in cold sweat— Nausea had robbed him of sleep.
Her heart clenched. She rushed forward, instinctively reaching out.
"Don't touch me!" Gu Liang slapped her hand away. His voice was weak— But still cold. Still guarded.
Her hand froze midair.
She looked at him— Fragile, stubborn, hurting.
Her chest ached.
She turned. Went to the kitchen. Poured warm water. Sliced fresh ginger. Placed the cup on the table before him.
"Drink this. It might help."
Her voice was dry. Hoarse.
Gu Liang stared at the steaming cup. Then at her—awkward, unsure, standing nearby.
His eyes flickered. Complicated.
But he didn't refuse. He picked up the cup. Sipped slowly.
The silence that followed was strange. Not cold. Not hostile. Something else. Something unspoken.
Emma stood quietly. Watching him drink. Watching his brow relax. Watching him lean back, eyes closed, resting.
In that moment, There was no fight. No hatred. Just a quiet instinct— A responsibility flowing silently between them.
She knew his walls were still up. She knew he might see her actions as worthless. Or manipulative.
But she didn't feel angry. Or defeated.
She just felt— That this was what she had to do.
For the child not yet born. And for the hollow space inside her— Carved by years of selfishness and fear.
The seed of change had sprouted. In the ruins of despair.
It was clumsy. Slow. The path ahead was still thorny.
But Emma knew— Something had shifted.
She was no longer just a prisoner in a broken marriage. No longer just a failed Alpha.
She was trying.
Learning.
To become—
Maybe never accepted,
But at least honest—
A mother.