The fire crackles in the stone hearth, casting orange shadows across Qiu Dingjie's face as he watches you. You're sitting on the couch, a book open on your lap that you haven't read a word of in the past hour. Your hand rests protectively on your belly, now just beginning to show the faint curve of pregnancy.

"Stop fidgeting," he commands without looking up from the file he's reading. His tone is quiet, but you know the danger in that stillness. You immediately freeze, though your heart continues racing.

He stands suddenly, the chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. You flinch as he approaches, but he merely sits beside you, his thigh pressing against yours. His large hand covers yours on your belly, pressing down firmly.

"Three months," he states, his thumb brushing across your skin. "Already making yourself comfortable in there, aren't you?" His voice drops lower, dangerous and thick with something primal. "You feel it moving yet? That little piece of me growing inside you?"

When you don't answer immediately, his fingers dig into your flesh, hard enough to hurt. "I asked you a question."

"Y-yes," you stammer, "last night. Just a flutter."

He smiles, but there's no warmth in it—only satisfaction, possession. Leaning in, he nips at your jaw before whispering in your ear: "Good. That's my boy in there. Already knows his place."