The drive home felt like I was drifting through a dense fog—not the kind that clouds your vision, but the kind that invades your mind, wrapping tight around your heart until you can barely breathe.

The anger and frustration that had fueled me earlier had long since extinguished, leaving only the raw embers of guilt smoldering deep within.

Every time I closed my eyes to think, I saw Stefan's face. I saw the stunned expression, the way his eyes flared with hurt and betrayal for the briefest moment before he shut it down and forced it behind that icy mask of indifference he wore so well.

He didn't deserve that. He was only trying to help, trying to get me to see what I was too afraid to face. But instead of listening, I gutted him with words I couldn't take back, words that were ugly, cruel, and jagged in their delivery.

God, why was I like this? Why did I always sabotage the people who tried to care? It was as if I had a self-destruct button, and I couldn't stop pressing it whenever someone got too close. And Stefan... he was always too close, too good at peeling back my defenses and seeing right through me with nothing but a look. That was part of why I hated him so much in that moment—because he was right, and I knew it.

What if Sienna did want kids someday? What if, one day, she did come to me, telling me she was pregnant? Could I really shut down the way I had now? Could I tell her to end it like it was some minor inconvenience? Could I even live with that decision?

The thought coiled tight in my stomach, a heavy, sickening knot I couldn't ignore.

I had always been so sure that kids were never part of the plan. It was a decision I made long ago, a part of the future I thought I wanted. But now, with Sienna, everything felt... different. Uncertain.

She was changing the way I saw things, cracking open possibilities I never wanted to consider before. It scared the living daylight out of me.

By the time I pulled up to the house, the weight of it all hung over me like a storm cloud, heavy and ominous. I pushed through the foyer and tossed my keys on the entry table, not even caring to acknowledge Keith as he bounded over to greet me.

"Let Sienna know we leave in ten," I instructed, heading to the bar for a neat shot of whiskey.

"Yes sir." He responded, following behind. "There's something I think you should know, sir."

I stopped and turned. "What's that?"

He hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly.

"What's that, Keith? Spit it out."

"I just thought you should know that Mrs. Larsen was down a few minutes ago, and... she didn't look too well, Sir."

That one sentence made my gut clench with unease. My brows creased. "What do you mean she didn't look well?"

"She seemed pale, sir. A bit out of sorts," he spoke carefully. "But she insisted she was fine when I asked."

Worry gnawed at me, mixing with everything else I was feeling. Dismissing Keith with a curt nod, I bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I knew she was upset, but the idea that she was unwell on top of everything else made my heart race.

When I reached our bedroom, I paused at the door. It was unlocked. A small mercy. I pushed it open slowly, half-expecting to find Sienna curled up in bed, looking weak and frail, but she stood in front of the full-length mirror, her back to me, wrestling with the zipper of an infuriatingly beautiful deep red dress that clung to her like it had been painted on.

The sight of her stole my breath, and for a moment, I could only watch, utterly captivated. I had a beautiful wife. She was like a vision that had been sculpted with impossible perfection. Those curves... it looked like they'd been poured into the dress by an Italian sculptor with far too much attention to detail. And her ass—it sat round and perfect, making my cock twitch.

Forcing my head out of the gutter, I stepped in fully, making my presence known. Sienna met my eyes in the mirror, just for a second, and in that fleeting glance, I saw everything—anger, hurt, disappointment, maybe even disgust. Then she looked away, her expression hardening into something cold. She didn't speak, didn't acknowledge me beyond that one look, and the silence that followed left a sour taste in my mouth.

"Your dress... it's beautiful." I tried, but the words felt weak, barely a drop in the vast ocean of silence between us. She didn't recognize me. No response. Not even a blink. Just more aggressive strap adjusting.

"Princess," I tried again, hoping using the pet name that always made her heart melt would somehow break the ice that was quickly turning into a glacier. Still, nothing. It was like talking to a brick wall wearing couture.

I cleared my throat. "Keith mentioned you weren't feeling well," I was grasping at straws at this point. "What's wrong?"

Still, no answer. Just the soft rustle of her dress as she continued to fight with the zipper. The sight of her struggling, both with the dress and with whatever she was feeling, was too much. Without thinking, I crossed the room and reached out for her. "Let me help you."

Her reaction was immediate—she pulled away, sharp and fast. "I don't need your help."

Her voice was cold and brittle, yet cracked, betraying the armor she tried to wear. I gently caught her shoulders, stilling her. "Let me."

She stiffened beneath my touch, her body tense, but she didnt pull away. I worked the zipper up slowly, my fingers brushing against the soft skin of her back. When the zipper reached the top, I stepped back, releasing her gently as though handling something fragile that might shatter with the wrong touch.

For a long moment, she stayed facing the mirror, her head bowed slightly, her hands resting stiffly at her sides. Then, swiftly, she turned to face me, her expression dark. "What do you really want, Tristan?" She bit. "What are you doing here, acting like you care? Like everything's okay between us?"

"I want to talk," I answered, which, in retrospect, wasn't the smoothest line ever, but it was all I could come up with. "I want to fix this."

"Fix what? You've already made it crystal clear how you feel about everything. So stop acting like we're okay and get lost."

Her words smacked me right in the ego, and for a second, I stood there like a malfunctioning robot, blinking and scrambling for the right response. I wasn't good at this—at talking with feelings. Sure, I could handle a boardroom, but this? This was like trying to defuse a bomb with a toothpick.

"Angel..." I tried again for the umpteenth time, my voice softer now, like I was tiptoeing through a minefield. "I didn't mean for it to be like this. And that's not true, I do care, you know I do, I'm just trying to—"

"Protect me." She finished, and then scoffed like I was the dumbest person alive. "No, Tristan, you're not trying to protect me, you're grounding me, you're trying to keep me under your thumb, keep me where you think I belong. There's a big difference."

"That's not true."

She practically rolled her eyes hard enough to pull a muscle. "Just go away okay, you don't care. What you care about is control, about making sure everything in your life fits your perfect little picture. Well, news flash: I'm not a puzzle piece nor a teenager who missed curfew—I'm your equal and I at least get to decide what I want to do when I want to do it."

I exhaled harshly. I felt like I was sinking, like every attempt I made to fix things just drove us further apart. "I know I messed up," I said, trying to find a way to salvage the situation. What would Stefan say? "I know I've been... a bit controlling."

"A bit?" She let out a bitter laugh so cold it could have frozen my soul on the spot. "Oh, well, in that case, let me thank you for your restraint."

Her sarcasm stung, like a slap I hadn't seen coming. "Fine, I've been controlling, a lot, but quarreling with you is honestly exhausting and I just want to fix things so we can go back to the way we were."

"Fine then, let me work."

I groaned. "Sienna..."

"Are you going to let me work or not?"

Her tone was ice-cold, shutting down any hope of a truce. For a second, we stood silent, locked in a heated stare that neither us of seemed willing to break.

"Guess not," she muttered at last, her shoulders sagging just a little. "I didnt expect much anyway."

Frustration tightened in my chest like a vice. "It's not that easy, okay, I—"

"Save the explanation for someone who actually cares." She cut me, brushing past me and walking towards the dresser. "I have better things to do."

My hands clenched into fists at my sides, not because I was angry, but because I had no idea what to do. Nothing I said seemed to be getting through to her. "Why are you being so headstrong about this? I'm trying to make things right, but you're refusing to give me a chance."

She stopped dead in her tracks and turned. "A chance?" Her expression morphed into something between disbelief and disgust. "You haven't been giving me a chance this whole time!" She suddenly flared. "Stop with the bullshit and be honest with yourself for once! You don't want to fix us, you want to fix what's convenient for you. You want to fix your version of things. God, you just never listen! I'm telling you what I need, what I want, but you keep shutting me down because it doesn't fit into your neat little plan! Why can't you let me have something that's just mine?! Why does everything I do have to revolve around you?!"

My jaw clenched. "You know that's not what this is about!" I shot back, my voice louder than I intended. "I just don't understand why you suddenly need this job so badly! You have everything you could want. A house, security, me! I give you everything. What's the point of—"

"The point is that I want something for myself!" She shouted again, walking back to me. "Why is that so hard for you to understand?! I can't just be your wife, Tristan, I need to be more than that! Sitting at home day after day is suffocating me! All I've wanted is a life that's more than just waiting around for you, and the second I try to do something for myself, you act like it's a betrayal!" She threw her hands up, exasperated. "You think that's enough?! That being 'kept' is all I want?! Tristan, this isn't a life! It's a luxury prison with a really nice bathroom!"

"For the love of God, this isn't a goddamned prison!" I snapped, my frustration boiling over. "What is wrong with you?! Why are you being so ungrateful?!"

"I'm being ungrateful?! I never asked for any of this!"

My next words flew out before I could stop them. "But you sure as hell seem to be enjoying it!"

Her cheeks turned blood red. "Screw you, Tristan!" She shoved me hard in the chest, her eyes blazing with fury. "You're an asshole!"

"Don't you think I already know that?!" I caught her wrist, holding her firm. "I'm an asshole! All I do is ruin things without knowing how to fix them! I don't know how to be anything but this—this mess of a man who's constantly screwing up! Yes, Sienna, I'm an asshole! Sorry I can't just be normal like the rest of you! Sorry I'm not the guy you want! The guy who doesn't make a huge fuse of you wanting to work because he is not insecure and scared! Sorry, Sienna! Sorry I can't be fucking perfect!"

My words hung in the air, raw and jagged, and for a moment, everything seemed suspended in time. It was like the world had stopped spinning, and all that was left was this—us, in the wreckage of our own creation.

We stood there, locked in this desperate, suffocating silence, our breathing harsh and ragged. I wasn't sure what I expected her to do—scream, shove me again, cry maybe. "I'm sorry I'm not perfect but I'm me," I didn't know if it would make things any better but I just said it anyway. "And I try, you know. I try in my own little way to make sure you're happy. I try to make sure you know you're loved because damn, I freaking love you, Sienna."

Her gaze softened, but not in the way I expected. It wasn't pity, it wasn't forgiveness—it was something far heavier. "Tristan," she started, stepping closer, making my heart bloom with hope, but then her breath hitched, and suddenly she pulled back, wrenching herself free from my grip.

"Oh, God." Her face crumpled, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as if trying to hold back something overwhelming.

"Sienna?" I called cautiously. "Are you okay?"

Without a word, she turned and bolted, running to the bathroom.

"Sienna!" I called after her, panic surging through me as I followed. But she was quicker, and by the time I reached the door, it was slammed shut, the lock clicking in place.

"Sienna!" I yelled, pounding on the door. "What's happening?! Let me in!"

The sharp, ugly sound of her retching filled the space between us, making my stomach twist with fear. I banged harder. "Princess, open the door! Talk to me!"

No answer. Just more gut-wrenching sounds from the other side, each hurl cutting through me like a knife. I clenched my fists, feeling utterly useless. "Sienna, please," I begged, my voice filled with desperation. "Just open the door, baby. Let me help you."

For what felt like an eternity, the only sound was her struggling to breathe through the nausea. I kicked at the door repeatedly, hating that I was unable to do anything but listen to her suffer on the other side.

Suddenly, the noises stopped and the sound of running water filled the space. My heart raced in the silence. I tried the handle again, "Sienna?"

Finally, the lock clicked, and the door creaked open. She stood there, pale and unsteady, her hand braced on the doorframe, her breaths shallow and labored. Her eyes met mine for a brief second before she swayed on her feet, collapsing into my arms.

I caught her just in time and scooped her up. She was trembling, her skin clammy and cool against mine. I carried her to the bed and laid her down gently. "Sienna, what's wrong?" I whispered, sitting beside her. "Talk to me."

She closed her eyes. For a long moment, she didn't say anything, she just lay there, looking so small and fragile.

My mind raced, trying to piece together what could be wrong. She had been so angry, so full of fire just moments ago, and now she looked like she could barely lift her head. "This isn't just some random thing." I tried to keep my voice steady, but the crack at the end betrayed me. "You need to tell me what's going on."

"I'm fine," she muttered, fluttering her eyes open. "Just feel a little tired."

"That's not good enough." I reached for my phone. "Grandpa can wait, I'm calling a doctor."

"No, don't," she croaked, her hand weakly grabbing my wrist, stopping me. "No doctors, no hospitals, no nothing. I'm fine, I just need a second to catch my breath."

I hesitated, torn between wanting to respect her wishes and the overpowering need to do something, anything, to help. "You're not giving much to work with here, Sienna." I touched her head. "I feel a fever coming on, we should—"

She slapped my hand away harshly. "That's your problem, you don't listen, I said I'm freaking fine. It's just something I ate."

I searched her face. "Are you sure that's all this is?"

She looked at me, her lips parting like she wanted to speak, but then she closed them again, swallowing hard. Her eyes darted away, avoiding mine, and that's when this sick thought hit me. "Sienna..." I called softly, my voice barely holding steady. "Are you..." my eyes dropped to her stomach. It couldn't be true, right? "Is there something you want to tell me?"

She groaned, shutting her eyes. "What now?"

A knot in my chest tightened. "Are...a-are you pregnant?"

The second the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Her head snapped toward me, her eyes wide with shock, like I'd just accused her of something impossible.

"Tell me," I whispered, my heart pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears. "Are you?"

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't say anything. Didn't deny it. Didn't confirm it. She just stared at me, her face as pale as the sheets. The silence that stretched between us was so thick and suffocating that I couldn't breathe. For a second, I felt like I was free-falling, grasping for anything to hold on to. I needed her to say something. "Sienna, I need you to say something."

I watched her work down a heavy swallow. She opened her mouth again, her face conflicted. I could feel my chest constricting, panic creeping into the edges of my mind. Was she about to say yes? Was I going to lose control of everything I thought I knew? What would this mean for us?

—but before the words could escape her lips, a heavy knock sounded at the door, shattering the moment.

"Mr. Larsen," Ryder's voice called from the hallway. "The pilot wants you to know we're running behind schedule,"

It felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been thrown over me. For a second, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. And then, just like a crashing wave, it hit.

What the hell am I doing?

Of course, she wasn't pregnant. There was no way. I'd had a vasectomy.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply as the realization settled in. All the worry, the panic—it was pointless. "This is ridiculous," I muttered under my breath, more to myself than to her. Stefan had gotten into my head, playing with my fears and making me question things that didn't even make sense. I had let that doubt take root, let it mess with me. But this? This was absurd.

I shook my head, trying to backtrack. "Know what, forget I said that," I felt a surge of relief, almost embarrassed by how quickly I had spiraled. "That's stupid. I don't even know why I asked. It's nothing."

Sienna didn't respond. She just stared at me, her pale face a blank canvas, her eyes distant and unreadable.

I wanted to take the question back, to undo whatever I had just set in motion. "Forget it, let's just—"

Ryder knocked again, a little firmer this time. "Sir?"

My irritation flared up. "We'll be out soon, okay!" I snapped, turning toward the door. "Go away!"

Heavy footsteps receded.

Just as I turned back to Sienna, she was already sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"Hey, hey," I reached out to touch her arm. "Where are you going?"

She shrugged me off, her face hard and unreadable. It was like the vulnerable woman I'd been holding moments ago had vanished, replaced by some distant, icy stranger. "Don't walk away from me, Sienna, you can talk to me."

But she didn't. She was already heading toward the walk-in closet, her back to me, her silence as sharp as any word she could've said.

I watched her open the door, pause, and shut it with a bang.

God.

I fell back flat on the bed, arms spread out, staring at the ceiling. I sighed.

I hate being in love.