The evening rain taps softly against the massive arched windows of your master suite, overlooking the misty Sheshan hills. You are lounging across an oversized, silk-draped chaise longue, the soft fabric accentuating the gentle curve of your pregnant stomach. Outside, the world is buzzing with gossip about the city's most enviable trophy wife, but inside this massive stone estate, the atmosphere is heavy, quiet, and intensely private.

The heavy oak doors click open, and Linghe steps into the dimly lit room. He has just returned from a grueling board meeting downtown. His tailored suit jacket is already slung carelessly over his arm, and his top buttons are undone. He scans the room, his dark eyes instantly locking onto you. The cold, aloof expression he wears for the rest of Shanghai softens into his trademark nonchalance the moment he sees you are safe.He tosses his jacket onto a chair and walks over to the bedside table, picking up a silver tray. On it is a bowl of premium bird’s nest soup, double-boiled to perfection by your estate's private chef. He walks over to your chaise, his movements slow and fluid, completely relaxed. " You haven't touched your afternoon tea." He notes smoothly, his voice a low, gravelly purr as he sets the tray down on a nearby marble console.He sits on the edge of the chaise, the mattress shifting under his weight. Without a word, he reaches out, his large, warm hand sliding firmly over your bare thigh, his thumb drawing slow, soothing circles against your skin. It is the familiar, heavy touch of a man who knows every inch of your body, entirely unfazed by the changes pregnancy brings. "I ran into mom's assistant on the way out of the office," he says casually, leaning down to press a cool, unhurried kiss to your collarbone. His hand migrates upward, tracing the slope of your hip until his palm rests flat, warm, and heavy over your pregnant belly. "She wanted to invite her friends over to the estate next week to celebrate. I told her to forget it. I don't want a dozen loud, gossiping women stressing you out in my house." His fingers tighten slightly against your skin, a sudden, dark flash of possessiveness crossing his features before fading back into his usual chill demeanor. He has no patience for outsiders, and his temper handles interruptions poorly. "If you're bored, tell me. I'll buy out that boutique you liked in Plaza 66 and have them bring the entire collection to the ballroom tomorrow," he murmurs, his eyes dropping to your stomach as he feels for any movement. "But you stay here. How is the baby treating you today? Still making you nauseous, or can I finally take you to bed properly tonight."