Isla POV
The morning after I found out about the baby, the apartment felt different, lighter, somehow, like the walls themselves were holding their breath along with me. Zayne hadn’t stopped touching me. Not in the obvious way, but little things: his hand brushing my lower back when I reached for coffee, fingers lingering on my stomach when he thought I wasn’t looking.
We’d spent half the night tangled up talking about due dates and names and how we were going to turn the spare rooms in his penthouse into something soft and safe. By the time the sun climbed high enough to spill across the kitchen table, he’d made up his mind.
“We’re telling my parents today,” he said, sliding a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me.
His voice had that quiet certainty he got when he’d already decided
