Pierre rushed through the garden, calling out for his wife. "Nicolette!" His voice laced with concern. He knew she should not be out here alone, not with their baby due soon.

  The sound of the grand fountain cascading water echoed his growing concern. As he walked, he brushed leaves from his golden hair, which the autumn breeze had playfully tossed over. Then, spotting a flash of red hair near the rose bushes, relief surged through him. His expression softened from worry to a warm smile as he approached.   “There you are,” he said gently, running his fingers through her flowing red hair.

  Nicolette’s fiery red curls tumbled down her shoulders in soft, untamed spirals, framing her face and grazing the delicate white fabric of her dress, which stretched gently over her growing baby bump.

  “Pierre, you worry way too much.” Nicolette softly said with a chuckle.

  “How can I not worry?” Pierre replied, raising an eyebrow, as he grabbed his beloved’s hand, raised, and gently kissed, “when my wife is due any day now and she’s wandering at the garden all alone.” Although his words and voice were full of concern, his face was not. Just moments ago, his concerned expression had shifted into a playful one. Pierre could not help but flirt with his wife every time he spoke to her. 

  Nicolette raised her eyebrow and smiled. “You’re silly. How can you still find me attractive like this?” She said pointing to her round belly. 

  Before their marriage, women close to Nicolette had warned her about men and how they ‘always’ change after marriage—especially during and after pregnancy. She was told not to be fooled by Pierre’s sweet words and doting love, insisting that, like any other man, he would lose interest the moment her slim, youthful figure began to change.

  “It’s your fault,” Pierre said, a teasing grin playing on his lips. “Watching your belly grow, along with everything else, arouse me more and more with each passing day.”

  Nicolette tiptoed to kiss her husband’s cheek. “You should lower your voice,” she said with a playful smile. “If any of the servants hear you, they’ll think their lord has lost his mind.” Knowing Pierre’s tendency to voice his lustful thoughts aloud, she was fairly certain the staff was already well aware of their master’s… enthusiasm for his wife.

  If this conversation had happened a few years earlier, back when Nicolette and Pierre were newlyweds, she would not have cared if her husband’s lustful words reached the ears of the household staff. But ever since Pierre had hired a new valet, she found herself more cautious about the things she and her husband talked about. Her change of heart was not due to any major reason—just a simple, undeniable fact: she did not like the new valet Pierre hired. Before his arrival, Nicolette had always thought of herself as someone who could get along with anyone on the staff. That was, until Gabriel d’Ernemont came into their lives.

  Nicolette’s disdain for Gabriel had not appeared overnight—it had grown steadily over time. She could still recall the warm welcome dinner she had arranged for him more than two years ago. Back then, she had been genuinely excited to meet the man her husband called a friend, someone Pierre trusted enough to make his valet. She had assumed Gabriel would be someone she could rely on as well, especially since Pierre, despite being naturally a friendly person, rarely extended the title of “friend” to just anyone.

  But as time went on, Nicolette noticed that Gabriel did not seem to share the same sense of friendship toward Pierre. There was not a single specific moment that made this clear to her—just subtle clues Gabriel let slip when he thought no one was paying attention.

  It was the tiny things that tipped her off—like the way Gabriel’s deep brown eyes would sometimes roll subtly when Pierre’s back was turned, or the overly polite, almost mechanical calmness in his tone whenever he spoke to her husband. Even when Pierre was warm and friendly, Gabriel never reciprocated in kind. Pierre would occasionally laugh it off, joking that Gabriel was just a shy man with an obsessive devotion to tidiness and decorum. But Nicolette was not easily fooled.

  Maybe if Gabriel did not subtly tense up every time, he heard Pierre’s voice—his quick, sharp inhalations betraying a hidden unease that had no reason to exist after everything Pierre had done for him—Nicolette might not have been so suspicious. But it was these small, telling details, along with countless others, that made her certain of Gabriel’s quiet disdain for her husband. And that realization bothered her deeply.

  After Nicolette’s opinion of Gabriel soured, she could not help watching him more closely. The more she observed, the clearer his dislike for Pierre became. Yet it was not just Gabriel’s plain disdain that bothered her; it was the way he trailed after her husband wherever he went, as if he were spying on him.

  Just like now, Nicolette could not help but notice him. Gabriel’s head stood out starkly, like a red flag in a winter storm, clearly visible from a distance. His towering height made it impossible for him to blend in; as the tallest person in the house, he did not seem to bother hiding either. As Pierre’s valet, Gabriel always had a good excuse to be near his master, but to Nicolette, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

 “I can’t believe you’re looking at another man while talking to your husband,” Pierre teased, noticing Nicolette frowning at Gabriel once again. It had become a habit for her to scowl whenever she saw their valet. In the past, Pierre had cautioned her about showing her disdain so openly, but now he had simply given up.

  “Why is he always so close? Doesn’t he have anything better to do?”

  Nicolette whispered. Just as Pierre had stopped reminding her to hide her feelings, Nicolette had also given up warning Pierre about Gabriel’s obvious disdain.

  However, that did not mean Nicolette had given up on her plan to force Gabriel out. She just needed undeniable proof of his ulterior motives. She knew he meant no good for her husband or their future children, and that he was surely plotting something behind Pierre’s back. Under normal circumstances, Pierre would heed her warnings and act on her advice. Yet firing Gabriel was the one request Pierre would not grant—because Gabriel had once saved his life on the battlefield, and Pierre still felt indebted to him.

  Nicolette knew it seemed illogical—who would suspect the motives of someone who had saved her husband’s life? Most people would see her as an ungrateful wife, even unhinged, for doubting Pierre’s savior. But deep down, she knew she was not wrong. She just needed to keep digging until she uncovered enough damning evidence that even Pierre could not defend Gabriel anymore, forcing him to finally send that snake away.

  For now, Nicolette was too far along in her pregnancy to continue digging up dirt on Gabriel. She would have to wait until after the baby’s arrival to resume her quiet investigation.

  “I’m hungry,” she said, turning back to Pierre.

“Then let’s head home,” Pierre replied, offering his arm. “I’ll make sure your favorite meal is ready as soon as possible.”

With that, they made their way toward the mansion, her hand resting lightly on his arm.

***

That night, Nicolette sent Pierre out of their bedroom, complaining that his constant requests for affection were keeping her awake. She was exhausted from the pregnancy and not in the mood for any intimacy. Meanwhile, as Nicolette slept peacefully, Pierre found himself sitting on the bathroom floor, wondering where his playful advances had gone wrong.

After a few minutes of agonizing over what he might have done wrong, Pierre gave up. He closed his eyes, biting his lip in frustration. But the moment his eyes shut; all he could see was the image of his wife’s long, red hair cascading over her bare, voluptuous body.

Slowly his hand slipped beneath his robe, trailing down to his most sensible part. It was warmer than the rest of his body and extremely hard. So hard it hurt. He wrapped his fingers around it and began stroking, his grip tightened with each passing movement. The skin beneath his hand flushed from a soft pink to a deeper red under the relentless pressure, but Pierre felt no pain—only a mounting, electric thrill. His thoughts began to wander, the sensation so vivid it was as though he were with Nicolette herself, lost in the heat of the moment.

With each stroke, the tension increased tighter within him. His breath came in shallow gasps, his body trembling as the pressure in his hand built to an almost unbearable peak. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the heat of his own touch and the vivid fantasy of Nicolette’s presence. His movements grew frantic, desperate, as the first waves of release began to crest.

And then it hit—a surge of pure, unrelenting pleasure that tore through him like a lightning strike. His back arched, a low groan escaping his lips as his cock pulsed violently in his hand. Thick ropes of semen erupted, splattering across his fingers, his palm, and the firm skin of his abdomen where his robe had fallen open. The warmth of it was startling, almost primal, as it spilled over his knuckles and dripped onto the fabric of his robe. Pierre’s grip tightened instinctively, milking every drop, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his climax.

For a moment, he lay there, breathless and spent, his hand still wrapped around his softening length. The air was thick with a warm, salty musk. Pierre’s mind lingered in the haze of satisfaction with the fantasy of Nicolette still vivid in his thoughts. Slowly, he exhaled, the tension in his body dissolving into a languid, sated calm.

Pierre sat on the cool bathroom floor, his back resting against the wall, his breath still uneven as the last tremors of pleasure faded. The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of his own breathing and the distant rustle of the night breeze outside. His hand, now sticky and warm, rested limply at his side, the evidence of his release glistening in the dim light. He glanced down at the mess he’d made—the streaks of white against his skin, the damp patches on his robe—and let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle.

“Nicolette,” he murmured under his breath, he missed her touch, her warmth, the way she used to tease him with that playful glint in her eye. But tonight, she had sent him away, and he couldn’t blame her. She was tired, her body heavy with the weight of their child, and he had been too eager, too insistent.

He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled golden hair, and leaned his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes, letting the stillness of the night settle over him.

With a groan, Pierre pushed himself to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate. He cleaned himself up as best he could, wiping away the remnants of his release with a damp cloth, and adjusted his robe. He couldn’t help but smile wryly at the thought of how ridiculous he must look—a lord of the manor, sitting on the bathroom floor, lost in his own desires.

As he made his way back to their bedroom, he paused at the door, listening to the soft, even sound of Nicolette’s breathing. She was asleep, her face peaceful, her hand resting gently on the curve of her belly. He stood there for a moment, watching her, his heart swelling with a mixture of love and frustration. He wanted to wake her, to pull her into his arms and tell her how much he adored her, how beautiful she was to him, even now. But he knew better, his sweetheart and their baby needed to rest.

Pierre lingered by the bed for a moment, looking at Nicolette, the moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a silvery glow over his wife’s fiery red curls, which fanned out across the pillow like a halo. Her hand rested gently on the curve of her belly. He couldn’t help but smile, a warmth spreading through his chest as he leaned down, his lips brushing against her warm belly in a tender kiss. He lingered there for a moment, his breath warm against her skin, before straightening and carefully sliding into bed beside her.

He shifted closer, his arm draping over her waist, his hand splayed over her belly. His head came to rest lightly against her, his cheek pressed to the soft curve where their child lay. Nicolette stirred slightly in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips, but she didn’t wake up. Pierre closed his eyes, the steady rhythm of her breathing and the faint, almost imperceptible movements beneath his hand lulling him into a deep sense of contentment. He could feel the warmth of her body against his, the familiar scent of her skin filling his senses, and for the first time that night, the restlessness that had plagued him began to fade.

As sleep crept over him, his thoughts drifted to the future—to the child they would soon welcome into the world, to the family they were building together. He imagined Nicolette holding their baby, her laughter filling the room, her eyes alight with the same joy he had fallen in love with. The thought brought a faint smile to his lips, even as his consciousness began to slip away. For now, though, he was content to simply hold her, to feel the life they had created together growing beneath his touch. And as he drifted into sleep, his head still resting against her belly, he knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, just as they always had.