Chapter 1 — The Kitchen Smells Like Coffee and Fea
The kettle clicked.
Eli flinched, one hand instinctively covering his lower stomach.
Six weeks.
He hadn't told Ronan yet.
He stood barefoot on the cold kitchen tiles, stirring sugar into Ronan's coffee exactly the way he liked it—two spoons, never stirred clockwise. Ronan hated that.
Eli's fingers shook anyway.
The bedroom door opened. Heavy footsteps.
Eli straightened immediately.
Ronan walked in, jaw tense, hair still messy from sleep.
His presence filled the kitchen like a storm cloud.
"What's wrong with you?" Ronan muttered, grabbing the mug out of Eli's hand a little too hard. "You're shaking."
"I'm just—tired," Eli whispered.
Ronan snorted. "You're always tired."
He brushed past Eli, and for a moment his shoulder hit Eli's—too hard to be an accident, too light to be called a hit.
Just enough to remind him who controlled the room.
Just enough to make Eli swallow down the nausea that wasn't just morning sickness.
Ronan took a sip. Paused.
His eyes narrowed.
"Did you stir it clockwise?"
Eli froze.
He had.
"I—I didn't mean to—"
Ronan set the mug down slowly, deliberately, and Eli felt his heartbeat climb up to his throat.
Every day was like this now.
Small mistakes.
Small punishments.
Small pieces of himself chipped away in a house that everyone else thought was perfect.
And yet...
As Ronan stepped closer, Eli's hand drifted protectively toward his stomach again, hidden behind his arm.
He didn't know how much longer he could hide the pregnancy.
Or how Ronan would react when he found out.
