Page 64 of Forced Pregnant Bride

Another wave crashed over me, and I screamed, gripping his hand so tightly that my nails dug into his skin. His other hand cupped the back of my head, pulling me close.

“Look at me,” he commanded in a way that cut through the haze. “You can do this. Keep going.”

Tears streaming down my face, I nodded, the pain threatening to drown me again. But he stayed there, his presence unshakable, his words steadying me like a lifeline. I clung on to every bit of him.

Minutes blurred into an eternity, each contraction worse than the last.

I felt like I was falling apart, yet he wiped my tears, murmured words of encouragement, and held my hand like it was the only thing keeping me tethered.

When the final push came, and the sound of a baby’s first cry filled the room, a sob broke free from my chest. Relief, exhaustion, and overwhelming love crashed over me all at once.

Timur’s grip on my hand tightened for a moment before he let go. His eyes were fixed on the tiny, wriggling form the nurse placed in my arms. For the first time, I saw a crack in his armor. His lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, and his dark eyes softened as he looked at our child.

Our baby boy.

“You did it.”

I leaned into him, feeling exhaustion sweep in. “Wedid it.”

His arm wrapped around my shoulders, holding me close, and for a moment, the world felt right.

****

I didn’t know how long I’d been out, but when I opened my eyes, the air carried a fragrant sweetness. As I turned my head, I realized why. The room was filled with flowers—dozens of them, arranged in elegant vases and spilling across every surface.

There were sunflowers, their bright yellow faces almost glowing in the light, mixed with delicate pink roses and clusters of white lilies. Daisies sat cheerfully in a small pot near the window, while a cascade of purple orchids draped gracefully from a tall vase. The scent was intoxicating, a blend of floral notes that seemed to brighten even the sterile hospital air.

On the bedside table, a colorful fruit basket caught my eye. It was overflowing with fresh grapes, shiny red apples, bananas, and plump strawberries. There was even a small jar of honey nestled among the fruit.

I let my head sink back into the pillow, the warmth of the moment wrapping around me like a soft blanket. Taking in the sea of flowers and the thoughtful fruit basket by my side, I couldn’t help but wonder who could have sent such a beautiful display. It felt intimate, personal, yet unexpected.

My mind raced through possibilities, even including Jayden on the list, though that was highly unlikely, considering we’d not been in touch for about a month. The last time we talked, he was somewhere in Brazil, doing God-knows-what.

My gaze drifted to the corner of the room—and then my thoughts paused like a train on tracks.

Seated on a chair partially shrouded in shadows was Timur. His broad shoulders slouched slightly, his usual commanding posture softened in a way I only saw at night when he slept peacefully beside me. The dim light played across his rugged features, making him appear both formidable and tender. But what truly stole my breath was the tiny bundle resting against his chest.

Our baby.

Swaddled snugly in a pale blue blanket, our newborn lay nestled against Timur, his tiny fists curled near his cherubic face. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, his innocence contrasting so profoundly with the man holding him. Timur’s hand, large and calloused, rested protectively over the baby’s back as if shielding him from the world.

The sight melted something deep inside me. A lump formed in my throat, and tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. My heart felt like it might burst, overwhelmed with gratitude and love.

I must have made a sound because Timur glanced up, his dark eyes meeting mine. A faint smile curved his lips. “Are you crying?”

I didn’t think I was, but I didn’t bother denying it. “You guys look so cute together.”

“And that’s why you’re crying?”

I laughed, watching him gently rise to his feet and carry our baby to the bassinet beside my bed. He looked so handsome, my husband. Every angle of his sculpted body looked perfect, and I couldn’t believe every inch of him was mine.

“The flowers are beautiful. Do you know who sent them and the fruits, too?”

“Arlo and Rafayel. Couldn’t wait long outside. They had something to take care of.”

I gaped, trying to imagine the strong, fearsome men walking through the hospital corridors with vases of flowers and fruit baskets. “That’s so sweet of them.”

Timur didn’t say anything, just released a weird chuckle. He tucked our son in, allowing his finger to linger under his tiny chin before he looked up at me. “He’s so fucking perfect. Like his mother.”

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