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And through all of it, this baby keeps growing.

I touch my stomach. Still too early to show, but the connection is there. It terrifies me how much I already love this child. How I’d do anything—burn my life to the ground—just to keep them safe.

But right now, the fear sits heavier than usual.

That car wasn’t a coincidence. Daniel’s making his presence known again, and I have no doubt he’s watching. Waiting for me to slip up. Maybe he’s already been here. Maybe he’s spoken to the landlord. Maybe he knows more than I want to believe.

I close all the blinds, double-check the windows. Everything’s locked.

But still, my heart won’t settle.

I pace the living room for hours, my mind spinning too fast to focus. At some point, when I cannot go on, I set a kettle to boil. I need a plan. I can’t stay here much longer. Drew’s place is out of the question—too visible. Ethan’s penthouse would be the safest option, but that comes with its own dangers. Emotional ones.

And the baby…

A tremor moves through me at the thought. I place a hand over my stomach again and breathe, trying to center myself. “You’re okay,” I whisper, more for me than for them. “I’ve got you.”

But even as I say it, I hear the faint echo of tires again. I move to the window and peek through the slats. Nothing.

There’s a knock—loud, urgent, cutting straight through my already fraying nerves. I flinch, spine snapping straight as mypulse barrels into panic. It’s too soon after the car, too soon after the text. I’m halfway to the door before I realize my hands are shaking again.

I inch toward the peephole, breath caught somewhere between my ribs and my throat. And standing there is my knight in shining armor, if only I'd let him in. I blink twice, but I'm not hallucinating. He’s actually there, standing on the other side of the door in a black jacket, shoulders tense, eyes sharp even through the distorted glass. Then his voice breaks the silence, sounding distinctly annoyed.

“Ivy. Open up.”

I stare for a second longer, something inside me warping under the pull of his presence. And then, I unlock the door slowly. He’s already halfway through the threshold by the time I step back.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, wishing I could sound more defiant than I do. The truth is that I’m relieved to see him.

His eyes rake over me in a single scan—hair damp from my earlier panic-sweat, hoodie zipped up to my chin, a flush I can’t hide. He closes the door behind him with a little more force than necessary. “You should’ve called me.”

“I didn’t?—”

“Don’t,” he cuts in, and for a moment I think he’s going to yell. But Ethan doesn’t yell. He never has to. His fury lives in the way he looks at you. The way he stands, perfectly still, like he’s holding something back with both hands.

He moves past me, stopping just shy of the kitchen. His attention snags on the stove still glowing from the kettle, thecorner of the rug kicked up from when I’d sprinted inside. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” I fold my arms and hate the way it feels like armor. “I’m fine.”

“Ivy.”

His voice is low, flat, but I feel it everywhere.

“There was a car,” I admit, avoiding his eyes. “Parked out front when I got home. I think I saw it last night too. I thought maybe I was just… imagining things. But it was there. And then it wasn’t. I don’t know what I saw.”

“You know what you saw,” he corrects me, frowning. “Was it someone from your past?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you in danger, Ivy?” he asks again, slower this time.

I meet his eyes then, and all the fight drains out of me. “I think so.”

The silence after that stretches long and hard. Ethan turns away, like he can’t bear to look at me for a second. His jaw is tight, the muscle jumping along the side of his face. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, but it hums with heat.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

I swallow. “Because last night, I thought it was nothing.”