KISS'S POV
Peace is strange.
It doesn't announce itself loudly. It slips in quietly, disguising itself as routine, laughter, exhaustion, and soft moments you assume will last forever.
That was what our days had become.
Harmony's cries echoed through the mansion like a stubborn little alarm clock that refused to respect sleep schedules.
Augustina looked perpetually tired, yet happier than I had ever seen her. Isaac hovered like a devoted shadow, panicking at every sound, every cough, every tiny movement of their daughter.
Watching them made my heart swell—and ache.
"Adrian," I murmured one morning as I leaned against him on the balcony, "do you think we'll survive this stage?"
He chuckled, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
"We'll survive. Barely. But we will."
I smiled, resting my hands over my growing belly.
"They don't sleep," I added softly. "They move all night."
"Already causing trouble," he said fondly. "Definitely mine."
I laughed, but deep down, I felt something else too.
A strange heaviness.
Not fear. Not pain. Just… awareness.
As if happiness itself was fragile.
AUGUSTINA & KISS — LATE AFTERNOON
Harmony finally fell asleep after hours of protest. Augustina collapsed onto the couch beside me, eyes half-closed.
"I swear," she groaned, "she waits until I'm at the edge of insanity before she sleeps."
I handed her a glass of water.
"She's testing her authority."
Augustina smiled weakly, then glanced at my belly again.
"Does it still feel unreal to you?"
"All the time," I admitted. "Some days I wake up and feel like I'm borrowing someone else's life."
She nodded slowly.
"That's motherhood," she said. "You love it, but it scares you."
I hesitated, then asked quietly,
"Are you scared?"
Augustina looked at Harmony's tiny sleeping form.
"Every second."
Her honesty settled between us like truth does—heavy, but comforting.
ELSEWHERE
Ashley's heels echoed against the marble floor as she paced.
Her phone lay untouched on the table, screen dark. She hadn't cried. She hadn't screamed. She had passed that stage long ago.
"They're laughing," she said calmly, staring into the mirror. "Living. Planning."
She picked up a photograph—one taken from afar. Me. Adrian. Smiling.
Her fingers trembled slightly.
"She thinks she won," Ashley whispered.
A knock sounded.
She didn't turn.
"Did you do it?"
The man hesitated.
"Everything is in motion."
Ashley finally faced him.
"You understand," she said quietly, "that once this begins, there's no undoing it."
He nodded.
Her lips curved into something cold.
"Good."
When the door closed again, Ashley poured herself another drink, staring out at the city lights.
"If I can't have Adrian," she murmured, raising the glass,
"then I'll make sure she never gets to keep him."
She drank.
BACK AT THE MANSION
Sleep came easily that night.
Too easily.
I lay curled against Adrian, his arm heavy around my waist. His breathing was deep, steady—peaceful.
I studied his face in the dim light, tracing familiar lines with my eyes. This man had been my storm, my safety, my destruction, and my salvation.
"I love you," I whispered, though he couldn't hear me.
The babies shifted again, stronger this time.
I winced softly.
Adrian stirred.
"Kiss?" he murmured sleepily.
"I'm fine," I assured him quickly. "Just movement."
He pressed a kiss to my shoulder, voice thick with sleep.
"Tell them I'll protect them."
I smiled faintly.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the trees.
Somewhere far away, thunder rolled.
DAYS PASSED
Life settled into a fragile rhythm.
Doctor visits. Late-night feedings. Laughter over breakfast. Business meetings that Adrian and Isaac handled effortlessly while the women planned nurseries and baby names.
If anyone was watching closely, they would have noticed the cracks.
The unfamiliar car that appeared once, then vanished.
The strange phone call that disconnected before I answered.
The way Adrian occasionally paused mid-sentence, brow furrowing for no clear reason.
But happiness makes you blind.
ASHLEY
Ashley stood alone again, dressed impeccably, her expression serene.
"Soon," she whispered.
Her phone vibrated.
One message.
It will be done.
Ashley exhaled slowly, placing a hand over her heart.
"I loved you," she said softly, almost convincingly. "You forced me to do this."
She turned toward the window, the city glowing beneath her.
"If I can't have you, Adrian," she said quietly,
"then you will lose everything you love."
She smiled.
And somewhere else, completely unaware, I laughed at something Augustina said—my hand resting protectively over my unborn children.
Peace still wrapped around us.
But it was already lying.