Chapter 19 Rowan
ROWAN
The morning light spills across the bedroom in long, soft bands that climb the walls of the estate’s master suite. I lean against the tall window, one hand resting lightly against the curve of my stomach while the quiet of the morning wraps around me.
The gardens below look nothing like they did months ago. Winter had buried everything beneath ice and snow when I first arrived here, the grounds silent and cold, the trees stripped bare as if the world had been holding its breath.
Now the gardens are alive. Green vines wind along the stone walls bordering the lower terraces while fresh leaves flutter through the branches of the old oak trees lining the long driveway.
Clusters of white and pale pink flowers bloom across the beds near the fountain, and even the air feels different, warm and alive.
My fingers move slowly across the soft fabric of the pale blue dress hanging from the wardrobe door. Lila insisted on helping me choose something comfortable for the baby shower this afternoon, something loose enough to accommodate the steady growth of the life inside me.
I glance down again at my stomach. It still surprises me sometimes how quickly everything changed.
Months ago, my life consisted of hospital shifts, late nights in the emergency department, and a small apartment that felt quiet but predictable.
I knew exactly what each day would look like when I woke up.
Now, nothing about my life resembles that version anymore. And somehow that thought doesn’t frighten me the way it once might have.
My hand glides lightly across the gentle curve beneath the fabric of my robe. A small flutter answers beneath my palm. I inhale softly.
“There you are,” I murmur under my breath, my lips lifting as the tiny movement fades again. A few months ago, that sensation would have startled me. Now it feels like a quiet reminder that I’m never truly alone.
Faint voices rise from the lower floor of the estate as staff move through the kitchen and furniture moves somewhere in the garden while preparations for the baby shower continue.
Lila had taken full control of organizing the entire event after deciding the estate needed something joyful after everything that had happened here during the winter.
Her words. Not mine.
I cross the room slowly toward the mirror above the dresser, adjusting the robe loosely around my shoulders as I study my reflection.
Pregnancy has softened parts of me I never noticed before.
My face looks a little fuller. My movements are slower.
And there is a glow in my skin that the nurses at the hospital used to joke about when pregnant patients came through triage.
Now I understand what they meant.
My fingers brush gently along the curve of my stomach again.
“You’re already very popular,” I whisper.
A soft knock interrupts the quiet. I glance toward the bedroom door just as it opens.
Kiren appears in the doorway and pauses there, tall and still, watching me. His gaze moves slowly over me in that familiar way he has adopted during the past few months, careful and observant, as if confirming that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Safe.
His dark shirt is rolled slightly at the sleeves, revealing the strong lines of his forearms. The tension that once lived permanently in his posture has softened since the war ended, though something watchful still lives behind his eyes. It always will.
Our eyes meet across the room. The corner of his mouth turns up.
“I was told the guest of honor might be in here,” he says quietly.
I fold my arms loosely across my chest, tilting my head at him.
“Lila is orchestrating a small army downstairs,” I reply. “I’m staying out of her way until she calls me down.”
A low chuckle escapes him as he steps fully into the room. His hand lifts briefly. Only then do I notice the small package resting in his palm. It’s wrapped in soft pastel paper decorated with tiny cartoon animals.
My brow lifts. “That’s suspicious.”
Kiren glances down at the gift in his hand before offering it to me.
“It belongs to you,” he explains.
I take it from him, a smile forming before I can stop it.
“Well then,” I murmur. “That’s fortunate.”
The paper crinkles beneath my fingers as I move toward the bed and sit down along the edge of the mattress.
Kiren remains standing nearby, watching with that same quiet focus he seems incapable of hiding.
“You’re staring,” I tease without looking up.
“I’m observing.”
“That sounds more concerning,” I tease.
His lips curve slightly again.
I peel the wrapping paper away slowly. Inside rests a small wooden box. The wood is polished smooth, the grain warm and dark beneath the morning light. Delicate engraving curves along the lid in elegant lettering. My fingers trace the edge of it as curiosity replaces my teasing expression.
“This doesn’t look like something meant for a baby,” I note softly.
Kiren doesn’t respond. The quiet draws my attention to him. He’s watching me carefully now. Something deeper moves behind his eyes.
My heartbeat beats faster in my chest. I open the lid. Inside, a small sterling silver baby rattle is carefully nestled into the velvet lining.
A soft laugh escapes me. “Oh my God,” I whisper, lifting it gently. The tiny handle glints in the sunlight as I turn it between my fingers. “This is beautiful.”
My gaze drops again. That’s when I see the second object resting beside it. A small velvet ring box.
My fingers pause midair. The room suddenly feels very still.
Slowly, I lower the rattle back into the box and reach for the smaller case. When I open it, the diamond catches the morning light.
My brain refuses to process what I’m looking at. “Kiren—”
Movement interrupts the thought. He lowers himself to one knee beside the bed. The sight of him there steals the rest of the air from my lungs.
My eyes widen. “Kiren,” I breathe again.
His expression remains composed, though a brief hint of vulnerability appears.
“Rowan,” he begins, his voice lower than usual. “From the moment you stepped into that alley, everything changed.”
The memory surfaces instantly, bringing back the cold pavement, the blood, and the moment our lives collided.
“You saved my life that night,” he continues. “You saved it again when you chose to stand beside me through everything that followed.”
My throat tightens.
“I spent years believing loyalty only existed inside the Bratva,” he adds softly. “You proved me wrong.”
He takes my hand in his. “Marry me,” he says.
Emotion rises so quickly that I can barely catch my breath. “Yes.” The answer leaves me before I can even think about it. “Yes,” I repeat, laughing softly through the sudden tears stinging my eyes.
Kiren exhales quietly as he rises from the floor. The ring slides onto my finger, the metal cool against my skin. Then his hands move to my waist. He pulls me toward him.
The kiss that follows is deep and certain, months of tension and quiet longing dissolving between us. My arms slide around his neck as his hand rests gently against my back, careful of the life growing between us.
Kiren tastes like rich coffee and promises, his tongue sweeping into my mouth.
The heavy diamond on my finger reflects the sunlight as I bury my fingers in his thick hair, pulling him impossibly closer.
The air in the room feels thick, charged with the electric current of finally belonging to him completely.
A low groan vibrates in his chest, spilling into my mouth.
In one smooth motion, he lifts me, his strength effortless despite my added weight.
My legs wrap instinctively around his waist, the soft blue robe falling open to expose my swollen, sensitive breasts to the cool air.
He presses me against the wall, trapping me there with the hard, heated length of his body.
His mouth never leaves mine, devouring me like a man starved, while his hips roll forward, grinding the thick bulge in his trousers against my soaked panties.
“Kiren,” I gasp against his lips, my head falling back as his mouth trails down my throat.
He doesn't answer with words. Instead, his rough hand finds my breast, his thumb dragging over the tight peak. The sensation shoots straight to my clit, making my inner walls clench around nothing. He pinches the sensitive nipple, rolling it between his fingers, teasing me until I’m writhing against the wall, desperate for more friction.
The contrast between the gentle way he holds my pregnant belly and the rough dominance of his touch makes my head spin.
“Look at you, moya,” he rasps, his voice thick with lust. “So beautiful.”
His other hand slips between my thighs, pushing the silk aside.
His fingers find my clit instantly, swollen and aching for him.
He circles the sensitive nub with a maddeningly slow rhythm, collecting my wetness and using it to slide more easily.
I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders, my body trembling as he strokes me.
He knows exactly how to touch me, how to wind me tight until I’m right on the edge, teetering between pleasure and madness.
Before I can fall, he pulls his hand away, ignoring my whine of protest. He carries me to the massive bed, laying me down against the pillows with a reverence that makes my heart ache.
He looms over me, stripping off his shirt to reveal the hard, sculpted muscles of his chest and the scars that map his violent life.
He joins me on the mattress, his body covering mine, his hand returning to the heat between my legs.
“Mine,” he growls, sinking two fingers deep into my pussy while his thumb returns to torture my clit. “All mine.”