I am the one pregnant, not your wife

Xavier's body twisted in the silken sheets, a turmoil that mirrored the chaos churning within. The moonlight bathed the room in an eerie glow, casting shadows that danced with his mounting regrets. His gaze fixed on Cathleen, her delicate form shrouded by the darkness of their bedroom and the weight of his transgressions. A single tear escaped her closed eyelids, tracing a path down her cheek—a silent testament to the pain she harbored even in slumber.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, the coarse whisper barely disturbing the oppressive stillness. With a gentleness that belied his usual dominance, Xavier reached out, his index finger tenderly brushing away the moisture from her skin. He watched, rapt, as each breath she took lifted her chest in a rhythm that seemed too serene for one so wounded by his hand.

Restlessness clawed at him, urging him to stand upright. He slipped from the bed, muscles coiling, and every step away from her was a reluctant retreat. He snatched his phon