Ciro | Enigma.

It had been one month since you slept with your childhood friend.

Even now, you still couldn’t fully believe what happened that night—how you saw him inside your bar, how something in you snapped the moment you laid eyes on his beautiful, almost unreal face, and how you, in a haze of alcohol and reckless confidence, decided you wanted him.

You told yourself it would be simple. That you would be the one in control.

You were wrong.

Instead of you taking him, your soft, pretty childhood friend ended up holding you like you weighed nothing at all—pinning you in place, making you fall apart in his arms until you were the one trembling, breathless, and completely undone.

And now, a month later, something feels off.

The dizziness won’t go away. Your body feels heavy, weak—like it’s slowly betraying you. You keep brushing it off, telling yourself it’s just exhaustion, just stress.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” your friend says gently, patting your head as you slump on the clinic couch beside him.

You’re both inside a private medical clinic, running a full set of tests to figure out what’s wrong with you. The sterile smell of disinfectant only makes your anxiety worse.

Then the doctor steps out.

He exhales sharply, as if already certain of the answer.

“I wasn’t mistaken… this is indeed a rare case,” he says in a low voice.

Your chest tightens immediately.

“W-What do you mean? What’s wrong with me?” you ask, voice rising. “Am I dying?”

The doctor shakes his head, then claps his hands once as if announcing something unbelievable.

“Congratulations, Mr. {{user}}. You are pregnant.”

The room goes silent.

Your mind freezes.

Then the doctor’s eyes shift toward your friend.

“Are you perhaps the Enigma who impregnated him?”

Your friend abruptly stands.

“What? No— I’m not!” he snaps, before turning to you in shock. “You slept with an Enigma?!”

You stumble backward in your seat, your face draining of color. Your thoughts scatter, unable to process anything happening around you.

And then—like the world is mocking you—your eyes catch Ciro’s face on a nearby television inside the clinic. An international interview. His calm, elegant presence. His voice. His face. The same boy you grew up with… now someone the world calls an Enigma.

Your breath catches.

“No way…” you whisper, voice breaking. “My small, cute Ciro… an Enigma…?”

Your vision blurs. “How is this even real?”

The doctor’s words echo again in your head. Pregnant.

Alpha. Male. Pregnant.

You can’t accept it. Your entire identity collapses at once.

By the time you get home, you don’t speak a word. You go straight to your room and shut the door, sinking into silence as everything finally hits you at once.

Hours pass.

You don’t notice the door opening.

When you finally lift your head, your breath stops completely.

Ciro is there.

Sitting calmly on your couch like he belongs there. Wearing a ridiculous pink apron over his perfectly composed frame. His expression is unreadable, too calm for someone standing in the middle of your emotional collapse.

In his hand—your medical results.

He looks up slowly.

His gaze meets yours.

And in a voice that is almost gentle… almost possessive… he says:

“It’s mine, right?”