THE BABY CONTRACT

Chapter Six – Night Watch

The soft hum of the city outside barely penetrated the penthouse. Aisha stirred in the enormous bed, silk sheets cool against her skin. Her body felt weak, but her mind was restless. She blinked, disoriented, until memories of the evening crashed back. The store. The whispers. The fall. Damian’s arms caught her before the ground fell.

She turned her head and nearly jolted upright.

Damian was there.

He sat in the armchair by her bedside, still in his shirt and tie, even though the hour was deep into the night. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, his tie loosened, but his posture remained taut, like a man holding himself together with sheer will. His gaze, however, was fixed entirely on her.

Her voice came out hoarse. “You’re still here?”

One brow arched. “Did you expect me to leave you unconscious and alone?”

She opened her mouth, then shut it. The Damian she knew—the cold CEO, the man who treated her like a business problem—would have done exactly that. But this Damian, sitting silently at her bedside, was different.

“You don’t have to—”

“I do.” His voice cut her off. “Until I’m certain both you and the baby are stable.”

Her heart gave a painful thump. The way he said “the baby” was still detached, but there was something underneath it—something unsteady.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and awkward. Finally, Aisha turned her face toward the ceiling.

“You don’t have to play the hero, Damian. I didn’t ask for this.”

“No,” he said quietly, “you didn’t.” Which is why it matters.”

She blinked, startled by the honesty in his tone. He shifted slightly, his eyes shadowed in the dim light.

“You think I don’t care,” he went on, his voice low, controlled. And maybe I shouldn’t. But watching you collapse…” His jaw tightened. “I don’t want a repeat of that.”

Her throat constricted. She wanted to hate him, wanted to cling to her anger. But the rawness in his voice—barely there, but real—unraveled her defenses.

She whispered, “You’re not as heartless as you pretend to be.”

His gaze snapped to hers, sharp and unreadable. For a long moment, neither spoke. The city lights painted his features in silver and shadow, making him look both untouchable and impossibly human.

Hours passed. Damian remained at her side, checking his phone occasionally, but never leaving. At some point, Aisha drifted back into a light sleep. When she stirred again, the room was dim. The only sound was the quiet tick of the wall clock.

Her lips were dry. She tried to reach for the glass of water on the nightstand, but her arm trembled. Before she could struggle, Damian was already there, lifting the glass, steadying her hand as she drank.

The simple act made her chest ache. He wasn’t supposed to be gentle.

She pulled back quickly, mumbling, “I can manage.”

“Clearly,” he said dryly, though his touch lingered a second too long as he set the glass down.

Their eyes met, and the air grew thick. She saw it then—the c***k in his armor. Beneath the ruthlessness and ice, there was a man who felt too much, a man terrified of it.

For a heartbeat, she almost leaned toward him. Almost. But then he straightened, his walls slamming back into place.

“Rest, Daniels,” he said, his voice cooling again. “Stress isn’t an option anymore.”

When Aisha finally drifted into sleep, Damian didn’t move. He sat back down in the chair, watching the rise and fall of her breathing.

He told himself it was because of the child—that was the priority. Protect the heir, protect the legacy. That was all this was.

But as he leaned forward, his hand brushing against hers where it lay limply on the sheets, the lie burned in his throat.

It wasn’t just the child.

And that realization scared him more than any hostile takeover ever could.