Disclaimer: The author's imagination and passion are the only sources of inspiration for this novel, which is a work of dedication. Parallels between these pages and the past or present may be apparent to some readers, but they are completely coincidental. You are free to interpret this art anyway you see fit, and it is meant for your enjoyment.
By the time Ysabella reached the three-month mark, the morning sickness had finally ebbed, replaced by a surge of manic, creative energy that Zayden's security team began to refer to as "The Storm."
It wasn't just that Ysabella was nesting; she was auditing the very aesthetics of the Spencer Global headquarters. The 50th floor, once a shrine to cold glass, dark mahogany, and the intimidating aura of a billionaire's lair, was currently under siege.
Zayden walked out of a grueling four-hour deposition regarding the Vane family's frozen assets, expecting the quiet sanctuary of his office. Instead, he stopped dead in the hallway.
The minimalist charcoal rug had been replaced by a plush, deep-sea blue carpet that felt like walking on a cloud. The scent of "Old Money" and espresso had been overtaken by a calming waft of lavender and organic chamomile.
"Marcus," Zayden said, his voice a low rumble of confusion. "Why is there a crate of organic cotton blankets in the reception area?"
Marcus, who was currently holding a box of "educational" wooden blocks, gave a stoic shrug. "The Director said the floor was 'too sharp.' She's softening the edges, sir."
Zayden pushed open the heavy oak doors to his private office and froze again.
His massive mahogany desk was still there, but it was now flanked by a rocking chair made of reclaimed oak and velvet. On the side table, where he usually kept his vintage whiskey decanter, sat a row of miniature stuffed sharks—each wearing a tiny, hand-knitted tie.
Yeabella was standing on a low stepladder near the window, her silk maternity dress fluttering as she carefully placed a series of framed blueprints on the wall. They weren't shipping routes. They were hand-drawn sketches of antique sailboats and celestial maps.
"Wifey," Zayden said, his voice softening as he walked toward her, his hands instinctively reaching out to steady her hips. "What are you doing on a ladder? I have a hundred employees who could do this."
"They don't have the vision, Zayden," Ysabella pouted, stepping down into his arms and immediately nuzzling into his neck. She bit her lower lip, her hazel eyes bright with a conviction that made his heart flip. "It was too cold in here. How is he supposed to feel comfortable if every surface looks like a weapon?"
Zayden's breath hitched. "He?"
Ysabella pulled back, her hand resting on the slight, firm curve of her stomach. "I just know it, Zayden. I can feel it. He's going to be just like you. Stubborn, brilliant, and probably obsessed with navy blue. He's a baby shark, and he needs a reef, not a fortress."
She reached for one of the stuffed sharks on the table and tucked it into the pocket of Zayden's expensive suit jacket. "There. Now you're both ready for the board meeting."
Zayden looked around his transformed office. To any other CEO, this would be a nightmare—a compromise of the "Alpha" image. But as he looked at the soft blue accents and the tiny toys tucked into the corners of his empire, a wave of secret delight washed over him.
He loved that she was marking his territory with their future.
"I have a reputation to maintain, Ysa," Zayden teased, though his arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against him. "If the Japanese investors see a plush shark on my desk, they might think the King of the Docks has gone soft."
"Let them think it," Ysabella whispered, her fingers tracing the jawline she was certain their son would inherit. "Then, when you crush them in negotiations, they'll be even more confused."
Zayden laughed, a deep, rich sound that echoed against the now-softened walls. He picked her up, sitting her on the edge of his desk—the same desk where they had closed billion-dollar deals and shared desperate kisses.
"You're amazing," he murmured, his forehead resting against hers. "Three months ago, you were terrified of these floors. Now, you're redecorating them with stuffed animals."
"I'm not terrified of anything anymore," Ysabella said, her gaze steady. "I have the best security detail in the world, and I have a husband who built a wing just for me. I'm just making sure our son knows that this empire is a home, not just a business."
The "nesting" didn't stop at the office. Later that evening, back at the penthouse, Ysabella had moved on to the library. She was organizing books not by author, but by "suitability for bedtime stories."
Zayden watched her from the doorway, a glass of water in his hand. He noticed the way she moved—more deliberate now, her glow intensifying with every passing day.
"Hubby?" she called out without turning around.
"Yes, wifey?"
"I want the nursery to be the exact same shade of blue as your favorite tie," she said, finally turning to look at him, biting her lip in that way that always signaled a new project. "The one you wore the day we got married. It's the color of the deep ocean. It's... it's Spencer Blue."
Zayden set the glass down and walked over to her. He pulled her into a slow, rhythmic dance in the middle of the library, the moonlight spilling over the shelves.
"Whatever you want, Ysa," he whispered. "Spencer Blue it is."
He leaned down, his lips grazing her ear. "But if he's exactly like me, you realize he's going to be a handful, right? He'll be auditing his milk supply by six months and demanding a higher interest rate on his allowance by five years old."
Ysabella laughed, the sound bright and clear. "I'm not worried. I'm the Director of the 42nd Floor. I handle the most difficult man in Manila every single day. One little mini-version of you? I've been training for this my whole life."
Zayden kissed her then—a slow, deep, and incredibly tender kiss that tasted of the future. He felt the life growing between them, the tiny variable that was already rewriting the ledgers of their lives.
"You're right," Zayden murmured against her lips. "He doesn't stand a chance against you."