42 | ☕Control Freak Atlas Is Scary ☕
Atlas had never been more frustrated in his entire life.
His usually calm demeanour was shattered by the rising tide of exasperation, each moment building into a crescendo of worry and vexation.
The room felt charged, every second stretching out as his mind raced through a thousand thoughts of how to protect her—even if it meant bending every rule.
Across from him, Anya stood defiant, her arms crossed tightly over her burgeoning belly.
Her dark eyes blazed with stubborn resolve as she glared at him, a mix of irritation and self-assurance in her expression.
"I'm two months pregnant, Atlas. Not dying," she retorted, her tone laced with equal parts sass and determination.
Even in the midst of her own uncertainty, she refused to cower or surrender to his protectiveness.
Atlas pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to rein in the storm of his temper.
Every inch of him ached with the tension between love and frustration.
He loved Anya—loved her more deeply than he'd ever thought possible, more than he'd ever imagined loving someone.
His heart was a tangled mix of adoration and concern, a passionate commitment that made him want to shield her from every conceivable harm.
Yet here she was, pushing him to the brink with her relentless independence and defiant spirit.
Ever since Anya had shared the news, Atlas had shifted into full protection mode.
It wasn't a calculated decision; it was pure instinct—a fierce, unyielding drive to keep her safe from even the smallest hint of harm.
The mere thought of anything happening to Anya or their baby—of her suffering discomfort, growing exhausted, or facing any form of peril—sent a surge of panic coursing through him, his chest tightening as if gripped by an invisible vice.
She needed to rest.
She needed to be safe.
And the best way to ensure that?
Keep her home.
Atlas had taken that responsibility to heart.
Every movement she made, every small sign of discomfort, every time she so much as sighed—he was there, ready to fix it.
Need a blanket? Done. Want a snack? Already prepared.
Feeling tired? He was fluffing the pillows before she could even yawn.
It wasn't just care—it was devotion, wrapped in a quiet, unrelenting determination.
But of course, Anya refused to listen.
She wasn't fragile. She didn't need to be wrapped in bubble wrap. And despite the very obvious fact that Atlas was only trying to help, she seemed to think his protectiveness was unnecessary—overbearing, even.
Which led them right back here.
Him, trying to keep her from overexerting herself.
Her, standing there, arms crossed, looking at him like he was the unreasonable one.
"Just because you own the café, Atlas," Anya argued, her arms folded tightly over her chest, her fiery gaze locking onto his. "You can't expect me to just disappear for months! I want to work!"
There was steel in her voice, a firm resolve that Atlas both admired and loathed in this moment.
She was stubborn—so damn stubborn. But this wasn't just about pride or independence.
It was about her—her well-being, her health, and now, the tiny, growing life inside her.
And she didn't seem to understand that yet.
Atlas exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. He was trying to stay calm, trying not to let the anxiety clawing at his chest take over. "I literally have staff for this exact reason, Anya. Kaia can handle it. You don't need to be there."
But Anya just scoffed, shaking her head. "Kaia is already covering for me more than she should. Besides, being pregnant doesn't mean I suddenly can't function!"
Atlas clenched his jaw so hard it ached.
This was exactly what he had been worried about.
Anya was too independent for her own good.
She didn't know how to slow down, how to let people take care of her, how to put herself first.
It was something he had always loved about her—her strength, her determination, the way she never backed down from anything.
But now? Now, it wasn't just about her anymore.
She was carrying theirchild.
And the thought of anything happening to her—or to their baby—was enough to make his stomach twist painfully.
He took a steadying breath, his fingers flexing at his sides. "Anya," he signed, his movements slow, deliberate. "This isn't just about you anymore. You have to be careful."
She hesitated for half a second—just long enough for him to catch the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes—before her stubborn expression snapped back into place. "I am being careful. But I'm pregnant, not made of glass."
Atlas clenched his fists, trying to bite back his frustration. She wasn't getting it.
She wasn't seeing what he saw—the exhaustion that had started creeping into her features, the way she pressed a hand to her lower back when she thought he wasn't looking, the tiny moments when she faltered but forced herself to keep going anyway.
He saw all of it.
And it terrified him.
Atlas took a step forward, reaching out to take her hands in his, his grip firm but gentle. When she looked up at him, his dark blue eyes burned with something deeper than just frustration.
Anya's eyes softened, just for a fleeting moment, her fingers twitching at her sides as if she was considering his words. But then, just as quickly, her stubborn resolve returned, hardening her expression like steel.
"I get that you're worried, Atlas," she said, her voice firm but laced with exasperation. "But I'm not some fragile thing that needs to be locked away."
Atlas gritted his teeth, frustration flaring hot in his chest.
"Then stop acting like I am!" she snapped, throwing her hands up.
His jaw tensed as he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to keep his temper in check. This was going nowhere.
They were just circling each other, over and over again, neither willing to bend.
Atlas dragged a hand down his face, inhaling deeply through his nose before he did something really, really stupid—like pick her up and physically keep her home. It was a tempting thought. He was more than capable of doing it, and the idea of knowing she was safe made it all the more appealing.
But he knew better.
Anya would murder him in his sleep.
So, instead, he forced himself to unclench his fists, to shove down the overwhelming urge to protect her at all costs, and took a slow, measured breath.
Anya hesitated, her sharp eyes narrowing as she studied him, already sensing a trap. "What kind of compromise?" she asked warily.
Atlas didn't flinch. He had expected this reaction. Crossing his arms over his chest, he met her gaze head-on, his stance firm. Unyielding.
Anya's reaction was immediate. Her expression twisted into a deep scowl, her brows furrowing in obvious frustration. "That's not necessary—"
She sucked in a sharp breath, her lips pressing into a tight line as she glared at him. "Atlas, this is ridiculous," she huffed, arms crossing tightly over her chest.
Atlas simply shrugged, completely unfazed. "If you don't agree, you're not going at all," he countered smoothly.
Anya's jaw clenched.
He could see the battle raging in her eyes—the war between her fierce independence and the undeniable truth that he wasn't going to back down.
She hated being told what to do. Hated feeling like she needed to be protected.
But she also knew Atlas. And when he made a decision—especially one that involved her safety—there was no changing his mind.
She exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face in frustration. He could practically hear the wheels turning in her head, searching for a way to fight him on this.
But in the end, she sighed in reluctant defeat, rubbing her temples as if the argument itself had given her a headache.
"Fine," she muttered. "A few hours. And only because I need to check on things."
Atlas narrowed his eyes, not entirely convinced. "And the security?"
Anya shot him a pointed look, her lips pressing together in barely restrained irritation. "Don't push it, Atlas." Her voice was firm, the underlying warning clear—she had compromised, and that was enough.
Atlas sighed, his jaw tightening as he held back the urge to argue further. He didn't like this. Not one bit. But he knew that pushing her too hard would only make her dig her heels in deeper.
Anya exhaled dramatically, rolling her eyes as if he were being the most unreasonable man on the planet. "Yes, yes, Mr. Overprotective," she muttered, waving him off.
Atlas simply stared at her, unimpressed. "I'm serious, Anya."
She groaned. "And I am seriously fine!"
Atlas didn't respond. He just gave her the look. The one that said, You are carrying my child, and I will not let you brush this off.
Anya huffed in defeat, throwing her hands up. "Fine! If I feel even the slightest bit off, I will call you. Happy?"
Atlas didn't say anything at first. He just pulled her into his arms, wrapping her up in the kind of embrace that left no room for argument. His grip was firm, steady—an anchor against the storm of stubbornness and frustration that had been brewing between them all morning.
Anya let out a small sigh against his chest, the warmth of his body seeping into her own.
She didn't want to admit it, but the second she was in his arms, she felt herself relaxing, the last traces of tension melting away.
He always did this to her—frustrated her beyond belief, yet made her feel the safest she had ever been.
"You really love being a control freak, huh?" she murmured, her voice softer now, the fight in her fading.
Atlas shifted slightly, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her temple.
His lips lingered there for a moment, like he was breathing her in, grounding himself in her presence.
When he finally pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression was unreadable—something between amusement and something much deeper, something unshakable.
Her breath hitched slightly. The simple, honest words settled in her chest, wrapping around her heart in a way that made it impossible to argue anymore.
For all his overprotectiveness, his exasperating need to control everything around her, it all boiled down to one simple truth—Atlas loved her. Fiercely. Unconditionally.
And damn it, she loved him too.
She sighed, letting herself sink into him fully, her arms tightening around his waist. "I love you too, you overbearing lunatic," she muttered against his shirt, her voice laced with both affection and exasperation.
Atlas smirked, the corner of his mouth tilting up in that way that made her want to smack him and kiss him at the same time.