[Jay's POV]
If the first two months were about Keifer's panic, the third month was about his absolute transition into the Ultimate Guardian. Now that we were at the end of the first trimester, he wasn't just "protecting" me—he was curating my entire existence.
The "Glow" was at an all-time high, but Keifer's "Hubby-Care" was at a 1,000% saturation level. He had become so attuned to my system that he often knew I was hungry or tired before I did.
The "Morning Command Center"
I didn't wake up to an alarm clock anymore; I woke up to the sound of Keifer's low voice as he sat on the edge of the bed, finishing his first round of international calls. The moment my eyes opened, his focus shifted entirely.
"Wiefy," he'd murmur, leaning over to kiss my forehead and then my stomach. "Sleep cycle analysis: seven hours, twelve minutes. Heart rate: steady. The 'Powerhouse' is currently resting. Would you like the lemon-infused water or the ginger-snap biscuits first?"
He wouldn't let me get out of bed until he personally checked the temperature of the floor. He'd even bought me a pair of "High-Traction Silk" slippers because he'd calculated a 0.02% chance of me slipping on the marble.
The Office "Relocation"
The most significant change in the third month was that Keifer stopped going to the office five days a week. He moved the Watson Command Center into the sunroom adjoining our bedroom.
"Keif, you have a board meeting," I said one morning, watching him set up three monitors while Mamma Serina brought in my breakfast.
"The board can see my reflection in the monitor," he replied without looking up. "I'm not leaving the perimeter during the final weeks of the first trimester. The 'Software' is in a critical transition phase from lemon to peach. I need to be here for the data sync."
He spent the whole day working with one hand on his keyboard and the other frequently reaching out to touch my hand or my bump as I sat nearby reading.
The Physical Devotion
By the end of the third month, my back started to ache slightly as the "Powerhouse" grew. This became Keifer's new mission. Every evening, he turned our suite into a private spa.
The Massage Protocol: He wouldn't let the estate's professional masseuse touch me. "Too many unknown variables," he'd say. Instead, he learned specific prenatal massage techniques from Ci N. He would spend an hour every night rubbing specialized organic oils into my skin to prevent stretch marks, his large hands surprisingly gentle.
The "Sound" Therapy: He'd heard that babies start to develop hearing in the third month. Every night, he'd lean his head against my stomach and recite the day's market gains or read me poetry in that deep, gravelly voice. "They need to recognize the CEO's frequency," he'd whisper.
The Protective "Shield"
Whenever we did leave the house—even just for a walk in the gardens—Keifer was like a human shield. If a breeze picked up, his blazer was around my shoulders in seconds. If a bird flew too close, his arm was up.
I remember one afternoon, Keiran came running toward me with a soccer ball. Keifer intercepted the ball with his foot before it even got within ten feet of me.
"Keifer! It's just a ball!" I laughed.
"It's a projectile, Jay," he said, his eyes scanning the garden. "Keiran, 20-meter safety buffer at all times. The Empress is carrying the Legacy."
The Late-Night Sync
At night, Keifer would pull me into his arms, his body acting like a heated cocoon. He'd lay his hand over the tiny, firm curve of my belly and wait.
"I felt it, Jay," he whispered one night, his voice thick with emotion. "A flutter. The system just sent a confirmation signal."
"That was the baby, Hubby," I smiled, feeling the Glow radiate between us.
"100%," he murmured, kissing the back of my neck. "My world is in this bed. Everything else is just noise."