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The word lodged in my chest.

I already knew.

I had felt the subtle shift in her body, the way her breasts had grown heavier, the way she tasted different, the way she smelled different. But now it was real. And as the streetlights blurred past, my thoughts drifted darker, back to that one conversation.

My parents had warned me with their usual self-righteous bullshit that the cold, relentless appetite for violence in my veins would consume me if I didn’t find an anchor. A wife. Kids. Something that forced me to build instead of destroy. Something that might satiate the monster, or at least keep it too busy to hunt.

I hated them for it. For thinking they knew me. For acting like they could fix me. But now, I wondered if the bastards were right. Settling down with Samantha, filling her with my child, maybe it would quiet the itch. Maybe the nights I used to spend stalking and killing would be replaced by midnight feedings and protecting what was mine.

We pulled into the parking lot, and I went inside. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. I ignored the bored cashier and headed straight for the family planning aisle, grabbing the most reliable tests I could find, three of them, just to be sure. The cashier rang me up without a word.

When I returned to the limo, she was curled on the backseat, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her eyes flew to mine the instant the door opened, anxious and searching. I held out the pharmacy bag. She took it with trembling fingers.

Soon as we got home I followed her straight to the bathroom. I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her every move. She fumbled with the box, reading the instructions with shaking hands. Then she lifted the toilet lid, hiked up the dress, and sat. When she was done, she carefully set the tests face down on the counter.

We waited, growing more anxious with every second. I could see it in her posture, in the way her knees pressed together and her shoulders trembled as she waited for a future that was already decided.

I exhaled slowly through my nose, forcing my pulse to steady.

She finally reached for the test and flipped it over. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted at the result.

“It’s positive,” she said.

A deep satisfaction settled in my chest. I felt no panic or doubt. Everything had gone exactly as planned.

I pushed off the doorframe and stepped fully into the bathroom with her, my gaze dropping briefly to her stomach, still flat despite the pregnancy. She watched me carefully, waiting for me to decide how she should react.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

She swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I haven’t had time to process it. Everything with my dad, graduation, the move…”

“I know,” I cut in, none of it mattered now. She was carrying my child. Our future was already written in her body.

I cupped her face with both hands, thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft and uncertain.

The question almost made me smile.

“I’m better than okay.”

She let out a breath, something like relief moving through her body as her shoulders dropped slightly.

“I didn’t know how you’d react,” she admitted.

I slid my hand firmly against her stomach.

“I’m going to be a father.”

Her eyes flickered again, uncertainty creeping back in. My hand moved from her stomach to her jaw, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to look at me.

“Are you sure you want this?” She asked.

“Yes,” I said. “You’re carrying my child.”

Her lips parted, and I watched the shift in her expression as it settled in.

“You think I’m letting anything happen to either of you?” I added.