Disclaimer: The author's imagination and passion are the only sources of inspiration for this novel, which is a work of dedication. Parallels between these pages and the past or present may be apparent to some readers, but they are completely coincidental. You are free to interpret this art anyway you see fit, and it is meant for your enjoyment.
The Makati sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the expansive glass walls of the Spencer penthouse in hues of bruised violet and molten gold. It had been exactly one year since Zeke Spencer had made his grand, chaotic entrance into the world, and the "Mini-Shark" was no longer a squirming bundle of blue blankets.
At twelve months old, Zeke was a force of nature. He had his father's relentless energy and his mother's unnerving habit of staring at people until they felt like they were being audited. He was currently standing in the center of the plush, deep-sea blue carpet, his small, sturdy legs planted firmly as he gripped Ysabella's hand for balance.
Ysabella looked down at her son, her heart swelling with a love that still felt new every single morning. She was dressed in a soft, cream-colored silk lounge set, her raven-black hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. The post-pregnancy glow had never truly left her; instead, it had deepened into a radiant, maternal serenity.
"You're getting so tall, Zeke," Ysabella whispered, smoothing his dark hair. "Pretty soon, you won't even need Mommy's hand to reach the cookie jar."
Zeke looked up at her, his crystal-blue eyes—the exact shade of Zayden's—blinking with a sudden, focused intensity. He didn't reach for a toy. He didn't point toward the kitchen. Instead, he let go of her hand and reached out both of his tiny, chubby palms, pressing them firmly against Ysabella's lower stomach.
Ysabella froze. A strange, electric shiver ran down her spine. "What is it, Zeke? Are you hungry? You're touching Mommy's tummy."
Zeke didn't pull away. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against her abdomen, his small hands splayed wide as if he were listening to a heartbeat that only he could hear. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face—a smile that was far too wise for a one-year-old.
He let out a soft, contented giggle and then looked up, turning his head toward the living room where Zayden was sitting on the oversized leather sofa, a tablet in one hand and a glass of chilled water in the other.
Zeke lifted one hand and gave a vigorous, enthusiastic wave to his father.
Zayden dropped the tablet. He stood up slowly, his tall frame silhouetted against the sunset. He had seen the interaction. He had seen the way his son—the boy who usually only cared about wooden sailboats and his mother's jewelry—had just performed a silent inspection of the Director's midsection.
"Wifey," Zayden said, his voice dropping into that low, vibratory register that always signaled he was in "Protector Mode." He crossed the room in three long strides, his eyes locked on Ysabella's face. "Did he just...?"
"He did," Ysabella breathed, her own hand covering Zeke's smaller ones. She looked at Zayden, her hazel eyes wide with a mix of shock and a blossoming, undeniable certainty. "He's been acting like this all morning. He won't let Marcus near me, and he keeps trying to share his milk with my stomach."
Zayden dropped to his knees in front of them, bringing him eye-level with his son. He placed his large, tattooed hand over Ysabella's, effectively sandwiching Zeke's tiny fingers between them.
"Zeke," Zayden murmured, his voice thick with a sudden, raw emotion. "Is there someone in there? Is the Mini-Shark getting a partner?"
Zeke let out a loud, happy babble—something that sounded suspiciously like a confirmation—and then tumbled forward into his mother's legs, hugging her tightly.
The "Official Audit" happened an hour later.
Zayden had practically teleported the family physician to the penthouse. While Zeke sat on the rug, busy trying to "reorganize" Zayden's collection of fountain pens, the digital readout in the primary suite gave its final verdict.
PREGNANT: 8 WEEKS.
Ysabella sat on the edge of the bed, a hand covering her mouth as she laughed through a sudden rush of tears. "The fitting room, Zayden. That emerald dress was a lot more expensive than we thought."
Zayden didn't say a word. He simply picked her up, spinning her around the room until she was breathless and dizzy with laughter. He buried his face in her neck, his shoulders shaking with a joyous, silent sob.
"A girl," Zayden whispered into her skin. "I'm telling you, Ysa. Zeke has a 'Brother's Intuition.' It's going to be a girl."
"And if it's another boy?" Ysabella teased, her fingers tangling in his golden hair.
"Then I'll buy a second dock," Zayden growled playfully, pulling back to look at her. "But I have a feeling. I've spent my whole life negotiating with men, Ysa. I think the universe is finally going to give me someone I can't intimidate. A mini-version of you."
He looked toward the doorway, where Zeke was currently standing, holding one of Zayden's pens like a scepter.
"He knew before we did," Zayden mused, shaking his head in disbelief. "My son just performed a forensic audit on his own inheritance."
The news hit the 42nd and 50th floors like a lightning strike.
Marcus immediately doubled the security detail, despite Ysabella's protests. Dylan Thorne sent a crate of pink and lavender canvases "just in case." But the most significant change was in Zayden himself.
If he had been overprotective during the first pregnancy, he was now bordering on the obsessive. He had hired a world-class nutritionist to live in the guest suite, and he had personally inspected the suspension on the company SUVs to ensure the ride was "infant-optimized."
"Zayden, I am eight weeks pregnant, not made of spun sugar," Ysabella laughed one afternoon as they sat in his office.
She was sitting in her usual spot—on his lap—while he tried to read a merger agreement. Zeke was sitting in his "Junior Auditor" chair, busy "signing" blank pieces of paper with a crayon.
"You are carrying the future of this empire, Ysa,"
Zayden countered, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. He reached out and caught her lower lip with his thumb, pulling it from her teeth. "And the Director of the 42nd Floor deserves a 100% safety rating. Besides, Zeke won't let anyone else sit in this chair anymore. He thinks it's his job to guard you."
It was true. Zeke had become Ysabella's shadow. Whenever a visitor entered the office, Zeke would stand up, puff out his little chest, and stare them down until they acknowledged his mother. He was already a Spencer through and through—fierce, protective, and utterly devoted to the woman who held the family together.
"He's going to be a great big brother," Ysabella whispered, looking at her son.
"He's going to be a menace to any boy who ever tries to talk to his sister," Zayden corrected, his eyes darkening with a father's early-onset jealousy. "I'll have Marcus train him personally."
Ysabella rolled her eyes, leaning her head against Zayden's shoulder. She looked at the office—the blue carpets, the stuffed sharks, the mahogany desk—and realized how much had changed. They weren't just business partners or lovers anymore. They were the architects of a dynasty.
As the afternoon sun faded, Zeke finally tired of his "paperwork." He crawled over to the big chair and tugged on Zayden's trousers. Zayden scooped him up, settling the boy on his other knee.
"Wifey?" Zayden murmured, kissing the temple of both Ysabella and Zeke.
"Yes, hubby?"
"I think we need a bigger boat. The current one only sleeps four comfortably, and we need room for the security detail and the nursery."
Ysabella laughed, the sound echoing through the 50th floor. "Only you would buy a yacht because of an eight-week ultrasound, Zayden."
"The audit is clear, Ysa. The Spencer family is expanding, and I'm making sure we have the infrastructure to handle the growth."
As Zeke drifted off to sleep against his father's chest, clutching his mommy's hand, the ledgers of Spencer Global were finally, perfectly balanced. The war with the Vanes was a memory, the shipping lanes were clear, and the future was arriving in the form of a little girl who hadn't even been born yet, but already owned the heart of the most powerful man in Manila.