Roman Griffin did not do things without preparation.

He had expected the timing of his proposal to be all wrong—a slip of the tongue, impulsive and entirely unscripted. He hadn't expected Violette to be even more decisive than he was, agreeing to it without a single hesitation.

But the objective was achieved.

Roman quickly sent a team to organize Blue Springs Estate. When the news reached the Griffin household, Margaret Lewis was delighted, personally dispatching a butler to supervise the staff, paranoid that they’d overlook some trivial detail and leave the place feeling empty.

In just three days, right on the cusp of New Year’s Eve, everything was ready. Since they planned to spend the holiday at the new house, Roman had specifically prepared a guest suite for Charles Ellis and Catherine Palmer.

At the family dinner, the air felt festive. Perhaps it was the holiday atmosphere, but even Emerson Griffin appeared less severe than usual. He passed out a stack of envelopes—holiday bonuses for the kids, distributed from oldest to youngest, leaving no one out.

Roman didn’t even look at the cash; he simply slid the envelope toward Violette. The movement was so fluid, so instinctual, that everyone else at the table paused.

Adelaide Griffin nudged her husband. "Take notes from your brother-in-law. Even he knows to hand it over."

With both sets of parents watching, a heat rose in Violette’s cheeks. She tried to push the envelope back to Roman, whispering, "I have my own."

Roman didn’t bat an eye. "Ignore them."

Adelaide laughed, a sharp, teasing sound. "Sister-in-law, just take it. If you don't, it’ll just get divided among us kids anyway. It’s been like that since we were little; he’s used to it!"

"I never said that!" Kaisen Griffin protested from across the table. "That’s always your idea, sis."

"Oh, come on, be a man! Are you going to own it or not?"

"I’m not of legal age yet, so no!"

The bickering drew soft, indulgent smiles from the parents. Just as Violette thought the spotlight had finally moved on, Adelaide steered the conversation back.

"Big Brother, you’ve really got to step it up! Maybe next year, Dad will be able to hand out two of these!"

Margaret tapped Adelaide’s hand, scolding her for having no filter.

Adelaide pouted. "What’s the harm? Didn't Big Brother bring up the idea of starting a family himself?"

The table fell silent. Catherine Palmer glanced over, her eyes flickering with sudden, sharp curiosity. She had, after all, grilled Violette on this very topic just a couple of weeks ago.

Back then, she’d asked if Violette had any plans for children now that she was married. Violette had looked at her like she’d been stabbed in the back. "Mom, I thought you were the open-minded one? Didn't you say you believed in reproductive freedom?"

"I was just asking," Catherine had replied.

"And I was just answering—I'm absolutely not prepared," Violette had shot back.

Catherine had always prided herself on being a modern mother, one who didn't nag about marriage or babies. But having a daughter, she realized, meant you never truly stopped holding on. When Violette was dating, she worried; when she broke up, she worried; and when she suddenly announced her marriage, she was frantic. *Was the guy reliable? Could he actually handle a life-long commitment?*

From the moment she met Roman, Catherine had been satisfied. He was capable, handsome, and successful. But she had to maintain her standards. She’d play the skeptic, questioning whether a man with such high standards who hadn’t settled down before might have some... hidden, underlying issues.

Violette had ignored those concerns entirely, and eventually, seeing their harmony, Catherine had let it go. But hearing the Griffin family talk about Roman wanting children, contrasted with what she knew of Violette’s complete lack of interest, felt wrong.

Some things only the people in the bedroom know. Men were notorious for their pride; they’d never admit to a lack of capability. Was her suspicion about his health actually on the mark?

Catherine felt a sour knot tighten in her chest. She sat straight, her gaze drifting toward the couple, who were oblivious to her scrutiny.

At nine-thirty, the rest of the Griffin family left. Catherine finally found her chance to corner Violette.

The house was cavernous; with fewer people, the silence felt heavy. Catherine dragged her into the guest room, shut the door, and pulled the curtains, sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed with a grim expression. "Are you two actually planning on having kids?"

"Who told you that?"

Violette’s question trailed off as she remembered the dinner conversation. She hesitated.

"...Just ignore the talk," Violette said. "There's nothing to it."

*See?* Catherine thought, her heart sinking. She looked at her daughter with the same heavy disappointment she used to reserve for bad report cards.

Violette was baffled. "Is it really that big of a deal that we aren't having kids?"

Catherine stiffened. "When you wanted to get married, I said—"

*Click.* The door swung open, the stopper hitting the wall. Charles Ellis walked in, looking between them. "What’s going on in here?"

"Nothing!" Catherine cut herself off, rubbing her temples. "I had a glass of wine at dinner. Violette was just walking me up."

"Then get some sleep." Charles opened the door wide, beaming. "Roman is quite the detail-oriented guy. You know, he even brought me a pair of earplugs when I came upstairs, said he didn't want the fireworks at midnight to wake me up. Oh, and Violette? He was just looking for you."

Violette glanced at her mother, confirming that the lecture was over, and slipped out.

Their suite was on the east side of the estate, wrapped in the shimmering glow of an infinity pool. She found Roman standing by the water’s edge, a single towel wrapped around his waist. He’d just come from a late swim, his skin glistening under the underwater lights. As the droplets rolled down his defined muscles, he looked like a statue pulled from an expensive, luxury campaign.

Violette felt her breath catch. She softened her steps. "Dad said you were looking for me?"

"Sunny was looking for you."

Roman tipped his chin toward a lounge chair nearby. Sunny, their cat, was tucked into a fluffy robe, lazily licking its own tail, looking anything but interested in finding her.

Violette knelt by the chair, stroking the cat’s head. "Sunny, what do you need from Mommy?"

The cat let out an impatient mew.

Violette looked back at Roman. "Sunny says it's his Daddy looking for me."

Roman shook the water from his hair, stepping closer.

The cat didn't notice the atmosphere growing thick and charged. It was far too busy trying to flatten a tuft of fur on its tail. It didn't know that the words "Mommy" and "Daddy" were meant to be uttered in the same breath. It only knew the sound of a tongue lapping against fur, a secret, rhythmic sound in the quiet night.

It was strange, it just wouldn't lay flat.

At midnight, the phones in the master bedroom began to buzz—a constant, rhythmic stream of New Year’s messages, screens blinking like falling stars in the dark.

Violette pushed against his chest, her voice stripped of everything but his name.

"Roman."

"I'm here," he murmured.

He paused, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "Almost there."