They returned to the mansion.
Quiet.
Familiar.
But not as light as before.
The car came to a stop.
Engine off.
Silence settled for a second longer than usual.
Izana stepped out first.
Then Leah.
Careful.
Always careful now.
His hand was already at her back.
Guiding her without asking.
Dante moved around the car.
Opened the back.
Looked inside.
Paused.
"…You actually bought everything."
Izana didn't look at him.
Just reached in.
Lifted a box.
Effortless.
"…Not everything."
"…Right. Just most of it."
Leah smiled faintly.
"…There's still more we need."
Dante blinked once.
"…Of course there is."
Elias stepped out slowly.
Watching.
Taking everything in.
"…It's a good start."
Izana didn't respond.
Already moving toward the entrance.
Leah followed.
Close.
Dante grabbed another box.
Muttering under his breath.
"…I should've stayed in the car."
"…You chose to come," Izana said flatly.
"…I regret that decision."
"…That's your problem."
Leah let out a small laugh.
"…You'll survive."
"…Unlikely."
They moved inside.
Straight upstairs.
No hesitation.
No stopping.
To the nursery.
The door opened.
Still empty.
Still quiet.
But different now.
Boxes filled the space.
Furniture waiting to be built.
A future sitting in pieces.
Izana set the first box down.
Careful.
Precise.
Dante dropped his next to it.
Not as careful.
"…There."
A pause.
"…That's enough for me."
Izana glanced at him.
"…You carried two."
"…I'm conserving energy."
"…For what."
"…Standing."
Elias let out a quiet breath.
"…You are consistent."
"…Thank you."
Dante stretched slightly.
Then his expression shifted.
Subtle.
But noticeable.
His gaze flickered toward Izana.
A pause passed between them.
Unspoken.
Understood.
"…I'll go find Elias," Dante said.
Elias raised an eyebrow.
"…I'm right here."
"…Then I'll talk to you somewhere else."
A beat.
Elias nodded once.
"…Of course."
They both left.
Door closing behind them.
Silence returned.
Softer now.
Leah stepped further into the room.
Slow.
Her hand resting over her stomach again.
She looked around.
Taking it in.
"…It's starting to feel real."
Izana watched her.
Not the room.
Her.
"…It is real."
She smiled.
Soft.
Then—
she moved toward one of the boxes.
Knelt down carefully.
Reaching for the tape.
Izana moved instantly.
"…No."
His hand caught hers.
Gentle.
But firm.
He helped her stand back up.
Carefully.
Leah blinked.
"…Iz."
"…Don't."
"…I was just opening it."
"…You don't need to."
A pause.
She looked at him.
Trying to read him.
"…What's wrong?"
"…Nothing."
"…Then why are you stopping me?"
A beat.
His expression softened slightly.
"…Because you shouldn't be doing this."
"…It's just a box."
"…It's still unnecessary."
Leah frowned faintly.
"…I want to help."
"…You are helping."
"…How?"
A pause.
His hand moved.
Resting gently over her stomach.
"…By being careful."
Leah's expression softened.
But she didn't give in immediately.
"…I'm not fragile."
"…I know."
"…Then let me help."
"…No."
Flat.
Final.
Leah exhaled softly.
"…You're impossible."
"…Yes."
No hesitation.
She almost smiled.
"…At least you admit it."
"…I don't need to pretend."
A pause.
Then—
her expression shifted.
Subtle.
Her hand moved slightly.
To her stomach.
Then higher.
Her breath hitched.
"…Iz…"
He reacted instantly.
"…What."
"…I feel…"
That was enough.
He didn't wait.
Didn't ask more.
He picked her up.
Careful.
Effortless.
Leah blinked in surprise.
"…I can walk—."
"…No."
Firm.
No argument allowed.
He carried her out.
Down the hallway.
Quick.
Controlled.
Into their bedroom.
Laid her down gently.
Slow.
Precise.
Like she might break.
Leah exhaled.
Settling against the bed.
"…I'm okay."
No response.
Izana stayed close.
Watching her.
Every movement.
Every breath.
"…It's just morning sickness."
A pause.
"…It happens."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"…It shouldn't."
"…It does."
"…I don't like it."
Leah let out a small breath.
"…You don't like anything that makes me uncomfortable."
"…Correct."
A quiet moment passed.
Then—
she reached for his hand.
"…I'm fine."
He didn't pull away.
But his grip tightened slightly.
"…You'll stay here."
"…Iz—."
"…You'll rest."
"…I can come back in a minute."
"…No."
A pause.
"…I'll take care of it."
Leah looked at him.
Studying his expression.
Serious.
Unmoving.
She already knew.
There was no winning this.
Not now.
"…Fine."
A beat.
"…But call me if you need help."
A small pause.
His expression softened slightly.
"…I won't need help."
Leah narrowed her eyes.
"…Izana."
A faint shift.
"…I will call you."
Better.
She relaxed slightly.
"…Good."
A pause.
Then—
he leaned down.
Pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Warm.
Lingering.
"…Rest."
She nodded slightly.
"…I will."
His gaze dropped.
To her stomach.
His hand followed.
Gentle.
Careful.
Then—
a soft kiss.
Right over her bump.
"…Stop making her sick."
Leah let out a quiet laugh.
"…You're blaming them again."
"…It's accurate."
"…It's not."
Another kiss.
Softer this time.
"…Behave."
Leah smiled.
"…They're not listening to you."
"…They will."
"…You're very confident."
"…I am."
She shook her head slightly.
Still smiling.
"…You're going to spoil them."
"…Yes."
No hesitation.
That made her laugh again.
A little brighter this time.
He watched her for a moment.
Just a moment.
Making sure she was okay.
Really okay.
Then—
he straightened.
"…I'll be next door."
"…I know."
"…Call me if you feel worse."
"…I will."
A pause.
"…Promise."
Leah softened.
"…I promise."
That was enough.
He turned.
Walked out.
The door closing quietly behind him.
Leah exhaled slowly.
Her hand resting over her stomach again.
"…Your father is a lot."
A small pause.
"…But he means well."
next door—
the nursery waited.
Half finished.
Boxes still unopened.
Izana stepped inside.
Alone now.
The softness didn't disappear.
But it shifted.
Focused.
Controlled.
He moved toward the boxes.
Opened one.
Slow.
Precise.
Wood pieces.
Instructions.
He barely looked at them.
Already understanding.
Already building it in his head.
He started working.
Measured movements.
Silent.
But not distracted.
His gaze shifted once.
Toward the door.
Then back.
Then again.
Watching.
Always watching.
Because something still felt off.
Something he couldn't ignore.
Even here.
Even now.
But his hands didn't stop.
Because this—
this mattered.
More than anything.