CHAPTER 194: CHAPTER 194- MAMA

That night, Charles set a freshly prepared glass of warm milk on the bedside table just as Janice returned from checking on Trista.

"She asleep?" he asked, lifting the quilt so she could slip in beside him.

Janice nodded. She’d gotten used to putting their daughter to bed every night now. Trista clung to her more than before, and—well—no matter how distant a mother might feel at first, the bond always came rushing back when it was your own flesh and blood.

"Don’t go picking her up all the time," Charles frowned slightly, his voice laced with concern. "You need to take care of yourself."

Janice rolled her eyes, but she could see the seriousness behind his words. Lately, every little thing she did seemed to tug at his heartstrings. He was as tense as when she’d been pregnant with Trista—watching her every move, afraid she’d forget she was pregnant and trip over her own feet.

If it were up to him, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight for a single second.

If it were up to him... and if only Brian and the others—

"I’ll be fine. I know my limits." Janice took the milk he handed her and drained it in a few sips. He reached out to wipe away the drop of milk clinging to the corner of her lips, then—without the slightest hesitation—licked his finger clean.

Janice’s eyes went wide. "You’re disgusting!"

"Oh? Are you talking about me?" Charles leaned closer, a wicked smile curving his lips. At this distance, he could catch the faint milky sweetness of her breath. It wasn’t the same as Trista’s scent—this was... far more tempting.

"Don’t. The doctor said the first three months are critical. We can’t..." Janice felt the heat in his gaze and immediately raised a hand to push him back. His warm breath brushed her cheek, making her own skin burn.

"Can’t what?" His voice dripped with amusement as he watched her cheeks turn crimson.

"You know what I mean!" Janice glared at him, mortified. He knew perfectly well—he was just making her say it.

"That? Which that?" His grin deepened as he pressed a kiss into her hair. His hand, however, was already slipping lower—to her lower abdomen... and then lower still.

Janice gasped, clamping her thighs together. That teasing glint in his eyes told her he’d done it on purpose, and her blush deepened until she felt it in her ears.

"Y-you shameless man!"

"How am I shameless? You’re my wife. If I can’t do it, can’t I at least touch?" His low chuckle was sinful, his hands prying her legs apart again. Before she could protest, his fingers slid into her pajama pants, sending an involuntary shiver through her.

And then, in the most outrageous tone, he murmured against her ear, "Son, when you get a little older, Daddy will come in to see you. Will you welcome me?"

Her entire face burned hot enough to boil water. She wanted to strangle him.

"Not welcome! Now get off me—you’re heavy, and you’re making me want to throw up!"

Whether it was anger or embarrassment, her face was flushed all over, her eyes shimmering with that soft, mature beauty that made his chest tighten. But the milk she’d just drunk churned uncomfortably in her stomach.

It wasn’t until Charles noticed her pale and pulled away that she suddenly sat up, bolted for the bathroom, and—

"Ugh..." The bitter acid in her stomach came up before she finally felt some relief. She rinsed her mouth, turned—and found him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a storm brewing in his eyes.

She brushed past him with a huff.

"Still feeling sick?" His voice was quieter now, tinged with regret. When she’d been pregnant with Trista, she’d barely had any morning sickness at all. This time, it seemed she wasn’t as lucky.

"I feel perfect whenever I’m not looking at you. Annoying man." She shot him a glare, one hand soothing her belly as if coaxing the baby to behave.

At moments like this, she couldn’t help thinking—maybe this little one really was a boy. Trista had been so well-behaved in the womb.

"Alright. I’ll stop bothering you. Rest early—I’ll be in the study." He bent down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, then turned to leave.

"Wait, Charles..." She hadn’t expected him to actually go. She’d only been grumbling—was he... mad?

But deep down, she knew better than anyone... no one cared about this child more than he did.

Charles hung up the phone with Shaun half an hour later, his expression dark.

The plan had changed—again.

Steven had just arrived in Australia when he suddenly received a call from his men. The "daughter" he had been so desperate to hold onto... had slipped away while he was gone. And she wasn’t alone—she had left with another man.

After everything they had been through—the obstacles, the forbidden love—he had finally made up his mind to keep her by his side. Yet at the very moment he decided to fight for her, she chose to leave.

The blow was crushing.

Even if it cost him everything, Steven didn’t want to lose her. It had taken him far too long to realize it, but now he understood—he had missed too much time with her already. This time, he was going to follow his heart.

Even if she was his daughter.

Even if the world would never accept them.

He loved her—deeply, desperately.

Right now, Charles and the others were firmly on their brother’s side. Nothing was more important than Shen’s happiness. So Shaun and Charles agreed that Shaun would head over to replace Steven first—Steven’s current mental state meant he couldn’t focus entirely on the enemy anyway.

Charles would delay his departure for a week. Steven would return home first, and if they could capture the target, Charles would go in for the final strike. When that time came, he’d stand side by side with his brothers.

A week.

That was all the time he had left before leaving again. He wanted to do so many things with Janice... but it would all have to wait until he came back. This time, he swore he would be there to witness the birth of their son.

When Charles returned to the bedroom, Janice stirred slightly. She didn’t open her eyes—she was too deeply asleep—but she could feel him near. His familiar scent wrapped around her, pulling her into a cocoon of peace.

When she finally woke, sunlight was filtering in through the curtains. Charles was sitting at the head of the bed, holding Trista in his arms. She had never seen him wake up this early just to hold their daughter.

His chiseled side profile was calm and gentle as he looked at the little girl, but when Janice reached out, her fingers brushed against his arm, and he turned toward her.

"Mama... mama..."

Little Trista was wearing a soft green dress, her tiny hands patting at Janice’s blanket-covered body. But it was the word she spoke—the sweet, clear "Mama"—that made Janice’s heart tremble with joy.