Kyra’s POV
I stood on the second-floor balcony of the guest house, wrapped in a soft robe, watching the trees sway. The quiet was so deep, so pure, it buzzed in my ears. No honking, no neighbors arguing through thin apartment walls, no reporters screaming questions through fences.
Just the wind.
The moment felt borrowed. Like I wasn’t supposed to be here. Like any minute someone would knock and tell me to leave.
Downstairs, Zaire was unpacking a few things and answering emails. We had decided not to talk too much tonight. Not about the baby. Not about feelings. Just breathe.
He ordered takeout, gourmet not greasy, and made me a plate, setting it down like a silent offering on the kitchen island.
I ate in soft candlelight, him across from me, his eyes drifting to my stomach every so
