The landing felt like a cold slab of reality against my spine. Pain flared in my hip, a sharp, white-hot reminder that I was no longer just carrying myself. I gasped, my hands instinctively shielding my belly, but before the panic could fully take root, I was being lifted.
Jake’s scent hit me first. Antiseptic, expensive soap, and that underlying hint of sandalwood. He didn't just pick me up; he reclaimed me. He carried me to the long sofa in the living room, his movements fluid and sure. Now that he was a Director, he moved with a new level of authority. The weight of his success was visible in the way he held himself, unburdened and powerful.
"Stay still, Lyra," he commanded. His voice was a low hum of clinical focus as his hands moved over my abdomen, checking for tension or signs of
