The air in the luxurious sitting room was thick with tension, a stark contrast to the opulence surrounding them. Lucas, his face etched with a desperate plea, tried to reason with Sarah, who paced like a caged tiger.

"Sarah, can you just sit down, let's talk about this," he urged, his voice a low rumble. He knew his wife's volatile nature, knew that force was futile. Only calm conversation might pierce through her agitated state.

"Lucas, what do you want to talk about? I'm carrying a child," she snapped, her voice edged with hysteria. "A child, Lucas, do you even know what that means for my career?" Her words, sharp and self-absorbed, cut through the quiet, leaving a chill in their wake.

Lucas rose, stepping in front of her, a gentle barrier against her restless movements. "Baby, you should be happy, we're going to receive the best blessing of our lives in a few months." His voice was soft, laced with a hope that seemed to mock the growing chasm between them.

Her response was a raw, unfiltered cry. "What the fuck do you mean by that, Lucas? What about my career that took me so long to build, huh? What about that?" Tears, hot and furious, streamed down her face, the second such outburst that morning.

He cautiously encircled her waist, mindful of her heightened sensitivity. These past weeks, she'd been a storm of irritability, hormones, he told himself, but deep down, he knew it was more. He had to be careful, one wrong word, one wrong move, and the fragile peace would shatter.