Marcellus felt torn.

He had expected Evangeline to reject the pregnancy, and the thought of that had cut him deep. But seeing her so radiant and joyous now, his own resolve began to falter, replaced by a sudden, creeping anxiety. He had never experienced fatherly love himself, nor had he any blueprint for how to provide it. Truth be told, it was a question he had never dared to entertain; he was simply not ready to be a father.

Sensing his drift, Evangeline gently squeezed his hand.

"Marcellus, what’s wrong?"

"I’m wondering if I’m even cut out for this," he murmured. His voice was flat, his eyes unreadable, but Evangeline could guess the storm brewing behind them.

"I read somewhere that a parent’s vocation is to turn their home into a warm nest, a place to pour love and strength into their child," she said, locking her gaze onto his. "Marcellus, are you telling me you don’t have the confidence to keep our home filled with love?"

"Of course that’s not it! Evangeline, I will love you forever, and more with every passing day."

Hearing his desperate promise, Evangeline laughed softly and leaned into his chest. "I know. I believe you. So, we’re keeping the baby. Deal?"

Marcellus studied her, his expression intense as he searched for any flicker of doubt. "If we have this child, you won’t have the same energy to chase your own dreams. Have you really thought this through?" He understood her too well—she was a woman of ambition and grit, never the type to be satisfied with a life confined to the domestic sphere.

Evangeline felt a fleeting shadow of melancholy, but before it could settle, Marcellus caught it. He let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "Take your time. I’ll follow your lead."

"Marcellus," she pouted, looking up at him with wide, aggrieved eyes. "We haven't even had the wedding yet."

The subject shift was jarring enough to make Marcellus pause. "You’re upset because we haven't held the ceremony?"

"I don’t want to be a bride with a baby bump," she grumbled, her bottom lip jutting out.

Marcellus’s heart soared. "Evangeline, leave that to me. I guarantee I’ll have it all sorted within the month. You’ll be the most beautiful bride this city has ever seen."

"Marcellus! Is your face a revolving door?" She blinked in surprise. One moment he was wallowing, the next he was energized. People always said women’s hearts were as deep as the ocean, but men were just as impossible to pin down.

"By the way," she added, "let’s not tell the families just yet. Let’s wait until the results come back in ten days."

"Agreed."

To ensure she was looked after properly, they didn't keep the news from Helen, their housekeeper. Helen’s reaction was over-the-top, even for her; she began treating Evangeline with more care than one might show royalty. When Evangeline stepped off the stairs, Helen rushed over to steady her.

"Helen, honestly, this is a bit much," Evangeline sighed.

"Oh, nonsense! The first trimester is the most fragile. We can’t be too careful," the older woman insisted.

Over the next few days, her meals were carefully curated—clean, light, and nutrient-dense. According to Helen, the goal was to nourish the baby without unnecessary weight gain. After a month of bland, medicinal broths, Evangeline was thrilled to finally have something with flavor.

"This is incredible," she chirped, eyes closed in bliss, her cheeks puffed out with a mouthful of food.

"I’m glad you enjoy it, Ma'am." Helen beamed, thinking to herself that her employer truly was a delight.

On the tenth day, Marcellus accompanied Evangeline back to the clinic. She was gripping his hand so tightly her knuckles were white. "Marcellus, come inside with me."

"I'm right here. Don't be afraid."

Inside the exam room, Damian Spencer guided her to the table. Evangeline lifted her shirt, feeling a shiver run through her as Damian applied the cold ultrasound gel. She tensed up involuntarily.

"Relax, it’ll be over before you know it," Damian said, his voice soothing as he slid the probe over her stomach and monitored the screen.

"Based on your cycle, the baby is about eight weeks along. Development is textbook—heartbeat and growth are both excellent. Just remember your folic acid and keep up with your prenatal check-ups."

The words felt like a lifeline. Evangeline was so relieved she could have burst into tears. "Thank you, Doctor."

Marcellus wiped the gel from her skin with gentle precision, helped her fix her clothes, and supported her as she stood. Watching him, Damian couldn't help but smile. "You two are going to be wonderful parents." In his years in the field, he rarely saw men this attentive; usually, the pregnancy was treated as the woman's sole burden. He gave them a few more pointers, which Marcellus memorized in silence.

Leaving the clinic, they headed straight for the Montgomery estate. Evangeline was bursting with the news, clutching the ultrasound scan to her chest with a permanent grin.

"Marcellus, do you want a boy or a girl?"

"Doesn't matter," he replied without a second thought. "As long as it's yours, I’ll love it."

"Tsk, you're just saying that."

"I’m serious. Even if you gave birth to a little piglet, I’d adore it."

"Pfft—hahaha!"

Wylder Shaw, sitting in the front seat, couldn't suppress a snort. He glanced up at the rearview mirror and immediately locked eyes with Marcellus’s icy, warning glare.

"My apologies, Sir," Wylder muttered, clamping his mouth shut. But his nostrils were still twitching violently as he fought to suppress his laughter.

Evangeline playfully swatted Marcellus’s chest. "Look at you! You’re going to give Wylder an ulcer from trying not to laugh!"

"Hahaha!"

Hearing her laugh, Wylder finally lost the battle. He let out a loud guffaw, deciding he didn't care if his boss fired him—dying of suppressed laughter was hardly a dignified way to go.

Marcellus’s face darkened, though a faint, amused twitch remained at the corner of his lips. "Wylder, you can lead the security team in a five-hour extra training session tonight."

The instruction was delivered in a calm, measured tone, but Wylder felt a cold shiver run down his spine, as if a cobra were crawling up his back.

"…Understood, Sir."

The laughter died in his throat.

Evangeline, still pouting in mock annoyance, turned her head toward the window for the rest of the drive. As they pulled into the Montgomery estate, Marilyn was already in the garden. She watched the Bentley roll up—while luxury cars weren't uncommon in this neighborhood, the custom plates were unmistakable.

She wiped her hands on her apron and signaled the staff to open the gate. Evangeline scrambled out of the car, sprinting toward her mother.

Marcellus jumped out right behind her, arms outstretched like a human safety net, panic etched across his face. "Careful!"

"Oh—sorry! I forgot!"

Marilyn looked back and forth between them, bewildered. "What’s gotten into you both? Treating her like she's made of fine china?"

Evangeline triumphantly waved the wrinkled ultrasound paper. "Mom! You’re going to be a grandmother!"

"What?"

Marilyn snatched the paper, her eyes widening as she scanned it. "Oh, my sweet girl... this is the best news! The absolute best!" She reached out, her hands trembling with excitement, and reached toward her daughter's still-flat stomach.