---
Chapter 114 – Damon's POV
"Her Little Princess, His Whole World"
I didn't think it was possible for Arya to get any more beautiful than she already was, but here she was — eight months pregnant, barefoot in my shirt, hair a tangled mess from sleep, pouting over cereal… and I was completely, hopelessly wrecked for her.
"This is not what I wanted," she muttered, scowling into the bowl of Cornflakes she'd insisted I pour five minutes ago.
I blinked, trying not to laugh. "You said cereal."
"I meant chocolate loops, not sad flakes that taste like regret."
"You said Cornflakes. I have witnesses."
"The baby changed her mind."
"Her?"
Arya paused, glaring at the spoon like it betrayed her.
Then she sighed. "Yes. Her."
My heart did a ridiculous little somersault.
"You're finally admitting it's a girl?"
"I'm not admitting anything. I'm just saying this pregnancy is way more dramatic than when I carried Liam. And that child had me eating pickles with whipped cream."
"That was your craving," I smirked.
"Still. This one has me crying over food ads."
"That's true."
"And barking at you like a hormonal sea lion."
"You're adorable when you bark," I said, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
She swatted me half-heartedly with her spoon.
"Damon, I swear to God, if you don't get me double chocolate loops with extra milk and frozen blueberries on the side, I will sob. Right here. I'm not kidding."
I was already grabbing the car keys.
"Say no more, mama bear. Your snack wish is my command."
"Thank you," she called after me. "And if the milk isn't cold, I'll riot."
I chuckled as I walked out the door.
Even with her mood swings and wild cravings, I wouldn't trade a second of this. Not a single one. Because every bite she demanded, every 3 a.m. foot rub, every midnight panic about whether the nursery theme was "too neutral" — it reminded me that we were building something real.
A family.
Our family.
And now… we had a princess on the way.
God help me.
---
By the time I returned, she was fast asleep on the couch, curled in a blanket, TV still on. Liam's favorite animated movie was playing — the one where the princess tames a dragon with a cupcake.
I stood there for a moment, just watching her.
Her hand rested over her belly, protective even in sleep. Her hair spilled over the cushion like a halo. And despite the tiny furrow between her brows — probably from dreaming about cereal injustice — she looked peaceful.
My warrior.
My storm.
My calm.
Carefully, I set the snack tray down and knelt beside her. I brushed a strand of hair from her face, kissed her temple, and whispered, "Your loops are here, baby."
Her eyes fluttered open, sleep-drunk and confused.
"You came back?"
"Always."
She sat up slowly, groaning at the effort, and I helped her lean against the cushions. "You got the blueberries?"
"Frozen. Like you asked."
"And the milk?"
"Iced it before I left. Want me to pour it?"
"Please."
I served her like she was royalty — because she was. And once the first spoonful hit her lips, she let out a dramatic sigh of satisfaction.
"Oh my God," she mumbled. "I could cry. This is everything."
"You already cried this morning because we ran out of mango yogurt."
"Don't bring that up again. It still hurts."
I laughed and sat beside her, resting my palm on her belly. She leaned into me without a word, her head on my shoulder.
"She's kicking," I whispered.
"She does that every time she gets what she wants."
"So… just like her mom?"
Arya chuckled and smacked my chest lightly. "She's already spoiled. You're worse than Liam."
"I can't help it," I said honestly. "It's like… I look at you, and I see our little girl growing in there, and I just want to give her the world."
"She'll have it. Because she'll have you."
I went quiet for a second. That still hit me sometimes — the fact that I was really here, really doing this with her, after everything we'd been through.
I was going to be the father of Arya's daughter.
And that little girl was going to know love in all its forms — soft, fierce, steady, loud. She'd never have to question where she belonged.
I rubbed slow circles over Arya's belly. "Think she'll have your eyes?"
"She better. Mine are prettier."
I grinned. "You're not wrong."
"And your hair," Arya added. "I want her to have your hair."
"You just want someone else to suffer through brushing it."
"Obviously."
We stayed like that for a while. Talking. Laughing. Planning ridiculous baby names and throwing them out just as quickly. Her eating and me sneaking bites when she wasn't looking. And when she finally started yawning again, I carried her to bed.
She was heavier now, her body moving slower, but I didn't mind. Carrying her wasn't a burden.
It was a blessing.
When I laid her down and covered her with the soft pink blanket she loved, she grabbed my hand before I could step away.
"Stay," she mumbled.
"I'm not going anywhere."
And I meant it.
This was my place now — beside her, beneath the stars, between baby kicks and cereal drama and all the unpredictable, beautiful chaos she brought into my life.
This was home.
---
End of Chapter 114 – Damon's POV