Change didn't come the way I expected.
There was no sudden pain.
No sharp warning.
No dramatic moment that made me clutch my stomach and panic.
Instead, it arrived quietly.
Disguised as concern.
I woke up to the soft sound of movement beside me.
Adrian was already dressed, his sleeves rolled up as he adjusted his watch with careful precision. The curtains were half drawn, morning light spilling across the bed and warming my skin.
For a moment, I simply watched him.
In the past my past life I used to wake up alone more often than not. Ethan always claimed work was more important than mornings with his wife. I believed him. I believed everything he said.
Now, I was married to a man who looked at me like I might disappear if he took his eyes off me for too long.
"You're staring," Adrian said without turning.
"I'm observing," I replied.
He finally looked at me, one brow lifting slightly. "And what is your conclusion?"
"That you don't sleep enough."
His lips twitched. "I sleep fine."
"That's a lie."
Adrian didn't argue. He walked back to the bed, sat beside me, and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand.
"Drink."
I sighed. "I already drank some."
"Again."
I accepted the glass, taking small sips. When I handed it back, he replaced it neatly, exactly where it had been before.
"Are you going somewhere?" I asked.
"No."
"Then why are you dressed like you're about to attend a board meeting?"
He paused for half a second.
That was all it took.
"You canceled my schedule," I said.
It wasn't a question.
Adrian met my gaze calmly. "Yes."
I pushed myself into a sitting position, moving slowly. "Without telling me."
"You don't need to leave the house today."
"That wasn't your decision to make."
"It is when it concerns your health."
My fingers curled into the sheets. "Adrian."
"You were in pain last night," he said evenly. "Your back spasmed. You barely slept. And Lily was unusually active."
"She's active all the time."
"And that's exactly why you should rest."
I exhaled slowly. "You canceled everything?"
"All external meetings."
"What about the video call with the investment team?"
"I handled it."
"And the marketing proposal?"
"I reviewed it."
My jaw tightened. "You didn't even ask me."
"I didn't want to stress you."
I looked at him then really looked.
This wasn't anger.
This wasn't control for the sake of power.
This was fear.
"Adrian," I said more softly, "I'm not fragile."
"I know," he replied immediately. "That's what scares me."
That made my chest tighten.
"I watched you break once," he continued, his voice lower now. "I don't intend to watch it happen again."
I swallowed. "You're talking like I'm about to shatter."
"I'm talking like someone who doesn't want to take chances."
Silence settled between us.
It wasn't hostile.
But it wasn't comfortable either.
"Next time," I said finally, "you talk to me first."
Adrian studied my face for a long moment.
Then he nodded. "Fine."
I knew that wasn't a full promise.
The doctor's appointment was moved up to the afternoon.
Dr. Martinez smiled the same calm, reassuring smile she always wore, her fingers cool and professional as she examined me.
"Everything looks normal," she said after a few moments.
Adrian didn't relax.
"But," she added, glancing at the chart, "you are experiencing more physical strain than average."
I frowned. "Is that bad?"
"It's not dangerous," she said carefully. "Not yet."
That single phrase lodged itself in my chest.
"Your body has been under prolonged stress," she continued. "Physical and emotional. Pregnancy doesn't erase that."
Adrian's jaw tightened.
"What do you recommend?" he asked.
"Reduced activity. No unnecessary travel. And close monitoring."
"How close?" Adrian pressed.
Dr. Martinez hesitated. "Weekly check-ins for now."
I opened my mouth to protest, but Adrian spoke first.
"Do it."
I turned to him. "Adrian.."
"We'll do it," he corrected, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The doctor gave me an apologetic smile. "It's just precaution."
I nodded, even as unease crept in.
Precautions were meant to prevent things that might happen.
And in my experience, things that might happen usually did.
That night, I sat by the window, watching the city lights flicker below.
Adrian was on the phone behind me, his voice low and controlled. I couldn't hear what was being said, only the cadence of his replies.
"No."
A pause.
"Double it."
Another pause.
"I don't care if it's excessive."
I turned slightly, just enough to see his expression.
Cold. Focused. Dangerous.
When he ended the call, I faced him fully. "What was that about?"
"Security adjustments."
"For what?"
"For you."
I crossed my arms. "You're not telling me everything."
He didn't deny it.
"Adrian."
"There are things you don't need to worry about."
"That's not your call."
His eyes darkened. "I won't apologize for keeping you safe."
The words were firm. Absolute.
And for the first time since my rebirth, something twisted uncomfortably in my chest.
Not fear.
But the realization that protection, when taken too far, could feel like a cage.
That night, as Adrian slept with one arm draped protectively over me, Lily shifted gently beneath my hand.
Six more weeks.
That was what we kept saying.
But suddenly, it didn't feel like a countdown anymore.
It felt like a warning.
The ride back to the penthouse was quiet.
Too quiet.
The city moved outside the window cars, people, life continuing as if nothing had shifted but inside the car, the air felt heavy. Adrian sat beside me, one hand resting on my knee, his thumb brushing small, absent-minded circles against my skin.
A comforting gesture.
A controlling one.
Both at the same time.
"You're thinking," he said.
"So are you."
"I always think."
"That's the problem."
He glanced at me, lips pressing together briefly. "You don't like not being in control."
"I don't like having control taken away from me."
He didn't argue that.
The car stopped in front of the penthouse entrance, security already waiting. Two guards I didn't recognize stepped forward.
I paused. "Those aren't the usual ones."
"I changed the rotation."
"When?"
"This morning."
"Without telling me," I noted.
"Yes."
I let out a slow breath. "Adrian, you can't keep doing that."
"I can," he replied calmly, stepping out of the car and offering his hand. "And I will."
I didn't take his hand right away.
Not because I didn't trust him but because I suddenly realized how easily trust could turn into dependence if I wasn't careful.
When I finally accepted his help, his grip tightened slightly, as if sensing my hesitation.
Inside the penthouse, everything looked the same.
Too clean. Too orderly. Too safe.
I lowered myself onto the sofa while Adrian removed his jacket, placing it neatly on the back of a chair. He moved like a man used to control over space, over people, over outcomes.
"I'm still capable of working," I said.
"I know."
"Then why does it feel like I'm being benched?"
He turned to me. "Because this isn't a game."
"That's exactly my point," I shot back. "My work isn't a game either."
Adrian walked over, crouching in front of me so we were eye to eye. His expression softened, but the intensity in his gaze didn't fade.
"You think I'm trying to sideline you," he said quietly.
"Aren't you?"
"I'm trying to keep you alive."
The words landed heavier than I expected.
"I survived dying once," I said. "I'm not afraid of pressure."
He stiffened. "Don't talk about that."
"It's part of who I am."
"It's part of who you were," he corrected. "I won't let it happen again."
That sentence that promise should have comforted me.
Instead, it unsettled me.
Because promises like that came with expectations.
And expectations came with cages.
Later that afternoon, Elena came by unannounced.
She took one look at the extra guards, the closed-off elevator access, and the way Adrian hovered nearby like a shadow.
"Oh," she said flatly. "So this is where we're at."
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "If you're here to criticize.."
"I'm here to make sure my best friend doesn't suffocate," Elena interrupted, dropping her bag onto the table.
I winced. "Elena."
"What?" she said. "I love the man, but he's hovering."
"I heard that," Adrian said.
"Good."
He crossed his arms. "I'm protecting my wife."
"And I'm protecting her sanity," Elena shot back. "She's pregnant, not glass."
Their eyes locked.
For a second, I thought Adrian might actually throw her out.
Instead, he exhaled slowly and stepped back. "Five minutes."
Elena smirked. "Progress."
When he left the room, she leaned closer. "You okay?"
"Yes," I said. "Mostly."
"That wasn't convincing."
"I feel safe," I admitted. "Too safe."
She nodded. "That's how it starts."
"What starts?"
"Losing yourself."
I stared at my hands. "He means well."
"I know. But good intentions don't cancel bad outcomes."
Her words stayed with me long after she left.
That evening, I opened my laptop.
Just to check.
Just to reassure myself that I was still… me.
The market graphs loaded slowly, lines rising and falling in patterns I knew too well. My fingers moved instinctively, analyzing trends, predicting shifts.
Still sharp.
Still capable.
Still in control.
Or so I thought.
A notification popped up restricted access.
I frowned and tried another file.
Same result.
I stood abruptly, my pulse quickening. "Adrian."
He appeared almost instantly. "What is it?"
"You limited my access."
"Yes."
"To my own work?"
"For now."
"For now?" My voice sharpened. "You don't get to decide that."
"I do when it puts you under stress."
"You don't get to define stress for me!"
The silence that followed was thick.
"I'm not Ethan," Adrian said slowly.
The comparison hit harder than any argument.
"I didn't say you were."
"But you're reacting like I am."
I swallowed. "Then stop acting like him."
His eyes darkened not with anger, but something far more dangerous.
Fear.
"I watched you give everything to a man who didn't deserve it," he said. "I won't let you give everything again."
I shook my head. "You don't protect someone by taking their choices away."
He didn't answer.
And that scared me more than anything else that day.
Night fell quietly.
Adrian lay beside me, one hand resting over my belly, his breathing steady as sleep claimed him. Lily shifted beneath my palm, a gentle reminder of why all of this mattered.
I stared at the ceiling, thoughts racing.
Six more weeks.
That was what we kept saying.
But six weeks wasn't just a countdown to birth anymore.
It was six weeks of watching.
Six weeks of waiting.
Six weeks of finding out whether protection would become possession.
And for the first time since my rebirth, I wondered.
Not whether danger was coming.
But whether it was already here.