The house had never been this full.
Not of noise — though there was plenty of that now: soft newborn cries, hushed lullabies, the quiet rhythm of footsteps at odd hours — but of something Zayn could not measure, control, or command.
Life.
He stood in the doorway of the nursery long after everyone else had drifted away for the night. The lights were dim, softened to a warm glow. Lena sat in the rocking chair, one baby nestled against her chest while the other slept in the bassinet nearby. Her hair was loosely tied, strands falling across her face. She looked exhausted.
She also looked… peaceful.
And that was his undoing.
Zayn had faced hostile boardrooms, corporate predators, legal wars that could ruin empires. He knew how to negotiate power, risk, consequence.
But this?
This quiet
