short tales - Chapter 25: Chapter 25

Arika × rivan
Aarika tried slamming the door again, but that stubborn hand stopped it — firm, possessive, and dangerously familiar.
She didn’t even need to look.
She felt him.
"Why?" she snapped, spinning around, anger burning in her chest.
"Why are you here again, Rivan?"
He walked in like the owner of the space—like he always had a right to.
His sharp eyes, cold and unreadable to the world, turned gentle… the moment they landed on her.
On his ex-wife.
On her swollen belly — his child growing inside.
He stepped closer, eyes never leaving her face.
Then, slowly, he cupped her cheeks with both hands and whispered in that deep, sinful voice,
"Oh my pretty little baby… don’t be angry. You know it’s not good for your health, my love."
That was it.
That exact sentence flipped her.
"Go. To. Hell!" she hissed and stormed off into the kitchen.
Rivan smirked behind her, licking his lips like her rage amused him.
"I’m willing to go to hell, baby..."
"As long as it’s you sending me there with those pretty little hands of yours."
And just like that, he followed her inside.
There she was — back turned, making something for herself, hair falling on one side, her figure glowing with maternal warmth.
He couldn’t stop himself.
His arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her gently yet possessively. His hands rested on her baby bump, fingers caressing the curve like it was his most prized treasure.
"Seems like my baby’s growing a lot in there, huh?" he murmured near her ear.
Aarika glared over her shoulder, her eyes sharp like daggers.
"Take your hands off me," she warned, trying to push him off.
But he held on — firmly, not to hurt, but to remind her she was still his.
"Why should I?" he whispered.
"Why should I take my hands off what’s mine?"
"You’re my wife — no, not just my wife, you’re my favourite person, my human, my everything."
She scoffed.
"Correction. Ex-wife."
He chuckled, tilting his head slightly, brushing his nose against her temple.
"Ex-wife, future wife, whatever comes next…"
"But the word wife is still there, right? So yeah — you’re still mine."
Aarika mentally sighed.
He won't stop. Not until he breaks every wall I built.
She glanced sideways — and froze.
Two of his tall, scary-looking bodyguards stood outside the kitchen, eyes politely looking away, but she knew they were listening.
Her cheeks flushed pink, but she masked it with her usual sass.
She turned to Rivan, eyebrows raised.
"Oh, so this is a full audience now? Should I serve your guards dinner too?"
He smirked.
"Tell them to get out, Rivan," she snapped, voice sharp as a blade.
With just one look from Rivan — one silent glare — the guards disappeared.
No words.
No delay.
Just gone.
The kitchen was silent again.
Except for the sound of two heartbeats… and one tiny one in between.
The guards were gone.
Silence returned, but the air between them was thick with unspoken feelings… and that dangerous pull they always had.
Aarika tried focusing on the pan in front of her, stirring the soup like her hands weren’t trembling from how close he stood.
But Rivan?
He was in a different world altogether.
Still holding her from behind, he slowly sank to his knees, his arms wrapping gently around her waist — and his face… pressed softly against her swollen belly.
His fingers grazed the curve protectively as he whispered in a voice only their child was supposed to hear.
"Hey little one... it’s me. Your dad."
Aarika froze.
"I know you don’t know me yet. But I already love you more than my life, okay? And if your mom ever tells you I’m dangerous—she’s not lying. I am. But I’d burn down the whole damn world just to keep you safe."
His thumb slowly traced the fabric over her bump, so gentle, so reverent.
"Grow strong in there, okay? So when you come out, I can hold you in my arms and make you forget all the pain I caused your mom."
Aarika’s throat tightened.
This man was supposed to be her past.
But the way he was speaking — soft, broken, real — made her heart ache in places she thought had healed.
And then…
He kissed her baby bump.
Slow. Soft. Worship-like.
Her eyes fluttered shut.
She hated how her body still reacted.
How his touch still made her knees weak.
How her breath still caught when he rose to his feet — slowly, face now inches from hers.
His fingers slid along her jaw, tilting her face toward his.
"You’ve gotten prettier, Aarika," he murmured, voice low, husky.
"Pregnancy suits you. You look... divine."
She looked away.
"I said take your hands off—"
But before she could finish, his palm cupped her face again, the other hand resting protectively over her belly.
"Don’t fight me tonight," he whispered. "Just… let me look at you. Let me remember what home feels like."
She met his eyes — and that was her mistake.
Because his gaze…
Was fire.
Was pain.
Was everything she tried to forget.
He leaned in — slowly, giving her time to stop him.
But she didn’t.
Not when his breath danced over her lips.
Not when his forehead pressed against hers.
Her fingers gripped the edge of the kitchen counter — her only balance.
"You still want me," he whispered, smirking slightly.
"Shut up," she breathed, her lips trembling.
His thumb brushed her bottom lip.
"Make me."
And in that small kitchen, surrounded by memories, regrets, and a child not yet born — the