Cathleen rose from the tangled sheets, a frown creasing her forehead. Her feet found the plush carpet as she made for the door.
"Where are you going?" Xavier's voice, deep and commanding, anchored her to a halt.
"To my room, I need to freshen up," she replied without turning, her tone clipped and resolute.
"This is your room; this is where you belong. I've moved all your things to this room." The declaration was possessive, brooking no argument.
Cathleen spun around, the incredulity written stark across her features. "What?" She spat the word out like a curse. "What right do you have to move all my belongings to this room?"
Xavier's eyes, cold and unyielding, locked onto hers. "The right a husband has over his pregnant wife," he countered, his voice firm and dismissive of any protest. "I don't want to argue with you, and if you're going to start with the Olivia drama, know this-I have never been to this room with her."
He paused, his gaze never wavering. "Olivia knows my room to be the next-door room. But this," he gestured around the spacious chamber, "is my actual room; no woman has ever been here except for you."
Speechless, Cathleen's chest heaved, her mind reeling from the audacity. Anger boiled in her veins, hot and bubbling, threatening to overflow. Without another word, she stripped, her movements sharp and jerky. As she stalked to the bathroom, Xavier's laughter followed her, mocking her.
She looked so fat right now, but cuter than before, he thought. His eyes lingered on her small frame, now rounded with the promise of new life. He couldn't help but imagine a girl-a little spitfire like Cathleen.
"Do you know the gender?" His question sliced through the tension.
Cathleen froze, her naked vulnerability incarnate. "No." It was a simple truth. She had never dwelled on whether it would be a boy or a girl; the pregnancy itself was an overwhelming reality.
"Do you wish to know?" Xavier prodded further, watching closely for her reaction.
"I don't know," she admitted, the war between fear and excitement clear in her voice.
"Well, I wish the baby was a girl," Xavier stated, his voice softer now, as if revealing a hidden tenderness.
At that, Cathleen turned, a rare smile blooming on her lips. "Really?"
Surprised by the warmth that spread through him at her happiness, Xavier simply nodded.
Water cascaded down Cathleen's body as she stepped into the steamy embrace of the shower. The heat was a balm to her tense muscles, and she let out a sigh, the corners of her lips still curled from Xavier's last remark. Motherhood had brought an unexpected softness, both in her curves and, occasionally, in the hardened heart of the man she married.
As she reached down to her ankles, her fingers were met with resistance from the swollen mass of her belly. It was like a full moon in all its glory, obstructing the path and hindering her movements. A deep frown creased her forehead, frustration gnawing at her mood. The weight of her growing body made every simple task feel like an impossible ordeal, leaving her feeling helpless and dependent on others. How was she supposed to maintain any sense of independence when even the simplest tasks had become overwhelming obstacles?
"Damn it," she muttered, attempting another futile bend.
From the doorway, Xavier watched, his presence looming large. A primal urge to aid her wrestled with the knowledge that Cathleen was a force unto herself-a storm not easily weathered or contained. Yet there she was, struggling before him-a rare moment of vulnerability that pierced through his armor.
'How does she manage alone?' He couldn't help but wonder, concern threading through the fabric of his thoughts.
Before he knew it, he was moving-swiftly and decisively. The water ceased to flow as he shut off the shower, and within moments, the tub was filling with foam cresting on warm waves. He stepped into the mist, his movements sure and purposeful.
"Xavier?" Her voice was uncertain in the timbre of surprise as he lifted her-effortless despite the swell of life between them-and settled her into the bath with care normally reserved for handling explosives.
"From now on, stop using the shower," he commanded the words leaving no room for argument.
"Xavier," she called out again, softer this time, a whisper of silk against the harshness of his decree. Her eyes met his, pools of emerald that could cut and soothe in equal measure.
"Thank you." It was a concession-a white flag raised on the battlefield of their will.
He hummed in response, his fingers gentle as they glided over her skin, washing away more than just the lather. This was an intimacy of a different sort, a dance where control and surrender swirled in the steaming water.
When he was done bathing her, he left her to soak in the warmth of the bath. He then Stripped down with methodical precision, he revealed his tall frame and chiseled muscles. As he stepped into the cool embrace of the shower, he couldn't help but contrast it with the tender interlude they had shared just moments ago. The water cascaded over his skin, washing away any lingering tension or desire. It was a quick and efficient cleansing ritual, a stark contrast to the passionate intimacy they had just experienced.
Dressed and ready, he approached her again, lifting her from the water's warm cocoon. She was weightless in his arms, a precious cargo he had never envisioned carrying. Toweling her dry, he dressed her with meticulous care, each article a silent apology for the invasiveness of his earlier actions.
"Let's go have dinner," he stated, words cloaked in normalcy.
"I am not a project!" Cathleen's protest erupted-fierce and fiery. Her sharp tongue, a weapon honed to perfection in courtrooms, lashed out.
"Well, you are if you are pregnant," he shot back, cool and unyielding, the familiar ground of confrontation beneath his feet once more.
A heavy sigh escaped her, a white flag fraying at the edges but not quite torn. They moved through the tension, the silence stretching thin between them as they prepared to face whatever awaited beyond the sanctity of their private world.
Descending the grand staircase, Xavier's firm grip was both a lifeline and a statement of possession. Cathleen's hand rested in his, her skin a beacon of warmth against the cold, calculated aura he exuded. The opulent hallway opened up before them, leading to the dining room, where Dora sat, perched like a vulture awaiting carrion.
"Thank you," Cathleen murmured as Xavier pulled out a chair with a flourish, ensuring she was seated comfortably. Her gratitude, however, was laced with an undercurrent of defiance-a silent reminder that she was no one to command.
Dora's voice slithered into the air, dripping with false sweetness. "You know, I wonder what could have happened if Avery hadn't run away on her wedding day." Her eyes glinted with malice. "She could have been the one pregnant now, don't you think, Cathy?"
The room stilled, and the tension was palpable. Every word from Dora's lips was a barbed hook, designed to wound. But Cathleen remained unflinching, her celebrity lawyer's composure as impenetrable as armor.
Xavier's response was swift and lethal, his tone a razor's edge. "No, actually, if your daughter hadn't run away, she could have been married to Finn, not me." He encircled Cathleen's shoulders with a proprietary arm, pulling her close. "And trust me, both of them running was some sort of blessing for me because I got to meet this amazing wife of mine who will soon be the mother of my baby."
Cathleen's breath hitched, the ice in Xavier's words melting slightly at the mention of their unborn child. There was something raw and honest there-a crack in his ruthless facade.
"She is the it for me," he declared, his gaze locking onto Dora's, daring her to challenge him further.
Silence clawed at the room, thickening the air until it was suffocating. Dora's mouth clamped shut, and her schemes turned to ash in the face of Xavier's unwavering claim. It was a checkmate without a chessboard, and she found herself speechless, stripped of her manipulative power.