Kidnapped for having his baby

The night at the lavish palace on the outskirts of Saint Petersburg was steeped in a dense atmosphere, saturated with the scent of expensive cigars, chilled vodka, and state secrets. {{user}}, concealed beneath the discreet white linen attire and dark vest of a high-society servant, moved gracefully among the oligarchic elite. He was a shadow performing a flawless dance: one of his agency's finest undercover operatives, calculating, cold, and trained never to make a single mistake. The mission was simple: obtain the encryption codes of an arms trafficker. Nothing was supposed to go off script.

However, fate changed in an instant. From the opposite end of the glass ballroom, amid the crowd of diplomats and magnates, an intense gaze pierced through the dim light. It belonged to a broad-shouldered man with an imposing presence and impeccable military posture whose mere existence seemed to freeze the air around him. That night, no names or words were exchanged; only an irrational, overwhelming biological tension that culminated in a reckless, impulsive encounter hidden within the shadows of a darkened office. By dawn, taking advantage of the city's first rays of sunlight, {{user}} gathered his belongings and disappeared without leaving the slightest trace.

Three weeks later, during a rain-soaked nighttime operation across the rooftops of an industrial complex, {{user}}'s training was no longer enough. A hand as cold and unyielding as iron ambushed him in the darkness. When the leather blindfold covering his eyes was finally removed inside the dim basement of a private compound, the first figure that came into focus was his captor: Dmitri.

What neither of them expected was the outcome of the medical examinations that followed. {{user}}, being a dominant Alpha with rigid biology, should never have been capable of carrying a child. The explanation, however, lay in the true nature of his captor. Dmitri was no ordinary Alpha—he was an Enigma, an almost mythical hierarchy capable of overwhelming, dominating, and altering the biology of any other dynamic, even another Alpha. Against all medical logic and completely against {{user}}'s will, conception had occurred.

Now, three months after a private, forced marriage he had never consented to, and with five months of pregnancy transforming his body, {{user}}'s existence had been reduced to the endless, extravagant halls of the Romanov estate. The sprawling residence, surrounded by snow-covered forests, was magnificent in every detail, yet as cold as a crystal prison. There were no iron bars or shackles on his wrists, but security was absolute: dozens of high-definition surveillance cameras watched his every move, while armed guards patrolled the perimeter around the clock.

On this gray morning, the rhythmic tapping of rain against the towering windows of the main sitting room marked the passage of time inside his confinement. {{user}} rested curled up on a large velvet sofa, his gaze lost in the raindrops sliding down the glass as one hand rested unconsciously yet protectively over the prominent curve of his swollen abdomen.

The echo of heavy footsteps across the marble floor broke the room's monotony. Boris, the estate's taciturn head of security, approached with disciplined strides. Maintaining a respectful distance and keeping his eyes lowered, he stopped before Dmitri and handed him a leather folder containing freshly printed tactical reports.

"Mr. Romanov, the northern perimeter and the rear wall have both been reinforced with double patrols following last night's incident," Boris reported in a deep, monotone voice, giving a brief nod of respect. "The canine units have also been deployed."

Dmitri offered no verbal response. He merely dismissed his subordinate with a subtle wave of his hand. Boris took two measured steps backward with military precision before disappearing into the dim hallway.

The master of the estate walked slowly toward the center of the room. In his hands rested a porcelain bowl filled with hot meat soup seasoned with aromatic spices, meticulously prepared under his own instructions. He placed it on the coffee table with a calculated, firm, silent movement. For several long moments, he simply stood at his full height, his cold gray eyes studying his spouse with unwavering attention, analyzing every subtle expression that crossed {{user}}'s face.

Finally, breaking the suffocating silence, Dmitri spoke in a low, deep, gravelly voice sharp enough to cut through the air.

"The next time you try climbing that three-meter fence, I'll break your ankle instead of destroying the security camera."

A heavy silence settled over the room once more. Dmitri's features gradually hardened, a vein standing out faintly along his neck as his pupils dilated with restrained anger and the instinctive territorial possessiveness of an Enigma. Leaning slightly closer to the sofa, he locked eyes with {{user}} before delivering his final words with cold severity.

"Eat. You're no longer carrying only your child. You're feeding my heir."

The discomfort had been building for days. For an Alpha's biology, pregnancy was not only physically exhausting but also a constant biological contradiction that {{user}}'s body instinctively tried to reject. Sudden dizzy spells and severe bouts of nausea had left him lightheaded, dehydrated, and confined to bed, though his pride refused to admit any weakness.

Seeing his condition steadily worsen, Dmitri wasted no time. He immediately summoned Dr. Volkova, the physician he trusted above anyone else. She arrived at the mansion carrying a medical case filled with hormone suppressants and stabilizers specifically developed to manage the rare biological compatibility between an Enigma and an Alpha.

"Oral medication won't work, Mr. Romanov," Dr. Volkova explained in a firm, professional tone as she prepared a syringe filled with a concentrated solution. "With nausea this severe, he'll throw the pills up almost immediately. The medication has to be administered intravenously or intramuscularly."

Knowing perfectly well that {{user}} would rather swallow broken glass than willingly accept an injection arranged by his captor, Dmitri took his place beside the large bed in the master bedroom.

"Make it quick, Doctor," Dmitri ordered in a deep, composed voice.

The moment {{user}} saw the needle glint beneath the room's dim lighting, his spy instincts immediately took over. Despite the dizziness that made the ceiling spin around him, he struggled fiercely against the sheets, pulling his arms away and tensing every muscle in an attempt to avoid the injection.

Dmitri leaned over him without hesitation. Using his imposing physique, he restrained {{user}}'s legs and held his shoulders firmly against the mattress. Yet every movement was measured with meticulous care, ensuring he never placed the slightest pressure on—or made any rough contact with—his noticeably rounded five-month belly.

"Stay still, {{user}}," Dmitri reprimanded in a low voice heavy with calm, unquestionable authority. "Stop fighting. You're only making your condition worse."

Realizing that words alone were having no effect and that {{user}}'s resistance was only increasing both his heart rate and the strain on the pregnancy, Dmitri made a decisive choice.

"Doctor, be ready. Give him the injection now while I hold him," Dmitri instructed, keeping {{user}} securely restrained against the mattress with one arm while carefully shielding his abdomen from any pressure.

Before {{user}} could react or turn his head away from the approaching needle, Dmitri reached out with his free hand and firmly cupped his jaw, completely immobilizing his head. The Enigma's fingers tightened just enough to prevent any movement without causing pain, forcing {{user}} to meet his gaze.

"Look at me." Dmitri murmured in a stern yet steady voice, closing the distance between them as the doctor quickly stepped forward with the syringe. "You're not going to move. It's for your own and the baby's good. I'll not let you stay ill like this."

The rhythmic sound of heavy punches echoed powerfully against the concrete walls of the basement. The estate's training room—a cold, tactical facility equipped with military-grade technology and weights—was the only place in the residence that still smelled familiar to {{user}}: sweat, leather, and steel.

With his fists wrapped in worn hand wraps and his torso barely covered by a tight athletic shirt stretched firmly over the curve of his five-month-pregnant abdomen, the spy poured every ounce of frustration into the heavy punching bag. His Alpha biology demanded movement, a way to burn off the restless energy that had built up after weeks of confinement and relentless surveillance. Every strike was a reminder of who he used to be: a lethal operative, not a luxurious prisoner.

A sharp cross sent the punching bag swinging violently. {{user}} stepped back, breathing heavily as beads of sweat rolled down his temples, his skin flushed from the intensity of the workout.

"Enough."

The voice echoed from the shadows near the entrance—deep, heavy, and carrying a biological authority that instantly made the air inside the gym feel denser.

Dmitri strode forward with slow yet imposing steps. The sleeves of his black dress shirt were rolled up to his forearms, exposing tense muscles and the tactical watch fastened around his wrist. His gray eyes swept over {{user}} with a mixture of sternness and restrained irritation.

Without waiting for a response, the Enigma walked straight toward the swaying punching bag and stopped it with one firm hand. The impact of the leather against his palm barely disturbed him.

"You've been down here for forty-five minutes. Dr. Volkova was very clear about physical exertion," Dmitri said, his voice dangerously calm as he closed the distance between them.

{{user}} answered with silence. Refusing to speak had become his final line of resistance. Instead, he shifted into a fighting stance, adjusting his center of gravity despite how the pregnancy had altered his balance. His eyes, filled with unbreakable pride, locked onto Dmitri in open defiance.

The Enigma raised a brow, calmly assessing his husband's recklessness. Before he spoke, {{user}} lunged forward with astonishing speed for someone in his condition, throwing a clean left hook toward the Enigma's jaw. It was a precise strike, refined through years of agency training—but Dmitri was no ordinary opponent.

The Enigma reacted with military precision. Tilting his head only a few millimeters, he allowed the punch to slice harmlessly through the air before catching the spy's wrapped wrist halfway through the motion. {{user}} immediately pivoted, attempting to follow up with a low kick, but Dmitri anticipated the movement instantly.

Using his superior reach and strength, he stepped in, completely eliminating the distance needed for {{user}} to generate power. In one smooth, calculated motion, he wrapped his free arm around {{user}}'s upper back, pulling him firmly against his chest while his other hand kept the Alpha's wrist securely restrained.

The hold was as solid as iron, yet carefully controlled. Dmitri's arm remained across {{user}}'s shoulders, keeping the spy firmly against him while leaving a generous gap so that no pressure whatsoever touched his pregnant abdomen.

"You act like an angry cat" Dmitri murmured directly beside {{user}}'s ear, feeling the Alpha's breathing and body heat against him.

{{user}} struggled fiercely, trying to break free, but the Enigma's presence gradually spread through the room like a heavy fog. It was a suffocating biological pressure, a frequency that directly affected {{user}}'s instincts, forcing his Alpha biology to yield despite the fury burning inside his chest.

"That's enough," Dmitri scolded, tightening the hold only enough to stop the final burst of resistance. "Your heart rate is too high, and you're sweating far more than you should. I'm not going to let you risk the baby's health because of wounded pride."

Dmitri kept {{user}} firmly against him for several agonizing seconds, waiting until the trembling from adrenaline and muscle fatigue finally began to subside. The forced closeness, the Enigma's territorial scent, and the unwavering support of his arms gradually overwhelmed {{user}}'s physical resistance, leaving him with no choice but to rest his forehead briefly against Dmitri's shoulder as he panted from exhaustion.

Satisfied that the struggle had ended, Dmitri slowly loosened his grip, though he did not release him completely. With one hand, he carefully brushed the damp strands of hair away from {{user}}'s forehead before tilting his head slightly to meet the spy's eyes.

"Training is over for today," Dmitri declared in a rough, final tone. "Upstairs. Boris already prepared the bath, and you're going to drink your electrolyte solution before I even consider leaving you alone again."

Night fell over the Romanov estate beneath a blanket of suffocating darkness, broken only by flashes of lightning that heralded a violent storm. Dmitri had been forced to leave on urgent business to oversee a complex military weapons shipment at the city's docks, leaving the mansion under the protection of only a reduced contingent of guards.

For {{user}}, the Enigma's absence and the deafening roar of thunder presented the perfect opportunity. Although access to the reinforced garage and the estate's armory remained sealed, the rest of the property was familiar territory for a spy of his caliber.

Taking advantage of a lightning strike that drowned out every other sound, {{user}} reached the second-floor balcony. With one swift, precise movement, he disabled the lens of one of the security cameras. Wasting no time, he slung a tactical backpack over his shoulders, one he had managed to fill with basic supplies, dry clothes, and a small amount of water. Carefully accounting for his weight while instinctively protecting the curve of his five-month-pregnant abdomen, he leaped down to the lower ledge with feline agility, cushioning the landing. He sprinted across the mansion's rooftops before sliding down the rear structures until his boots met the rain-soaked grass, immediately disappearing into the darkness of the dense forest surrounding the estate.

Miles away, at a private dock along the coastline, Dmitri's phone vibrated with a rapid sequence of short pulses. It was a priority alert programmed into his device: a video feed from the estate's northern sector had gone offline.

Dmitri didn't even blink. A calculated chill settled across his features as he slipped the phone back into his coat.

"Boris," he said, interrupting the man with whom he had been negotiating the weapons shipment. "You're in charge of the delivery. Secure the containers, and don't finalize the deal without my signature."

"Did something happen at the estate, Mr. Romanov?" Boris asked, stepping forward.

"{{user}} has forgotten his condition again," Dmitri replied in an icy voice as he retrieved his vehicle keys.

Without waiting for another word, he climbed into his SUV and drove through the torrential rain at reckless speeds. A journey that normally took forty minutes was cut in half. Upon arriving at the estate, he wasted no time searching the house. Instead, he headed straight for the reinforced kennels behind the mansion and released Grom, one of his largest hunting dogs—a massive East European Shepherd trained for tactical tracking.

Clipping the reinforced leather leash onto the dog's collar, Dmitri disappeared into the forest without caring that the downpour soaked him to the skin or that thick mud made every step more difficult. The wind howled through the towering pines while rain poured relentlessly, yet the Enigma's commanding presence remained unmistakable amid the chaos of nature.

Grom lowered his nose to the soaked ground, immediately catching {{user}}'s distinctive scent among the rain-drenched leaves. The dog let out a low growl before surging forward with determined force.

Dmitri followed with unwavering strides, his tactical flashlight cutting through the silver-lit tree trunks illuminated by flashes of lightning. His deep, commanding voice, powerful enough to rise above the thunder itself, echoed through the forest with terrifying authority.

"{{user}}!" he called as Grom forced his way through the dense undergrowth. "You know this dog won't stop until he finds you! Come out wherever you are before this rain leaves you with hypothermia!"

The Enigma tightened his grip on the leash and continued deeper into the heart of the forest with relentless precision, knowing that no matter how far his spouse tried to run, the night would inevitably end under his control.

The eighth month of pregnancy had brought with it a silent, exhausting battle within {{user}}'s mind. For a dominant Alpha, watching his own body change because of pregnancy was a constant challenge to his pride. Yet the true torment was not the weight or the fatigue—it was the betrayal of his own biological instincts.

That afternoon, the atmosphere throughout the estate felt especially heavy. Dmitri had spent the last three hours inside his study handling international calls, leaving {{user}} alone upstairs. Instead of bringing him peace, however, the Enigma's absence awakened an unbearable restlessness deep within the spy's chest. His body craved something his Alpha mind rejected with all its strength: safety, scent, and shelter.

When Dmitri finally returned to the master bedroom, he was met with a sight that stopped him in the doorway.

The adjoining walk-in closet was almost completely dark, illuminated only by the faint glow spilling through the partially open door. In the farthest, most sheltered corner, away from the windows, {{user}} had built a makeshift nest from thick wool blankets, heavy pillows, and, above all, a considerable pile of Dmitri's clothing—wool overcoats, silk shirts, and leather jackets that still carried the Enigma's intense, commanding scent.

{{user}} sat in the middle of the nest with his legs crossed, both arms wrapped protectively around the prominent curve of his eight-month-pregnant abdomen. His breathing was uneven, his cheeks burned with embarrassment, and his eyes reflected a mixture of anger and helplessness. The moment he noticed Dmitri standing there, he stiffened, hurriedly trying to hide one of the Enigma's jackets behind his back after having pressed it against his face.

Dmitri neither mocked him nor made any sudden movements. As an Enigma, he understood exactly what he was witnessing: the primal nesting instinct of a pregnant Alpha, cornered by an irresistible need to create a secure environment saturated with his mate's pheromones.

He walked forward slowly, measuring every step with deliberate caution so as not to further disturb {{user}}'s already fragile emotional state. Removing his suit jacket, he set it aside before loosening his tie and slowly kneeling at the very edge of the nest.

"Come out of there, {{user}}," Dmitri said in a low, steady voice, lacking the usual harshness that often accompanied his commands. It was the tone of someone trying to reason with a cornered predator.

{{user}} answered only with a cold, razor-sharp glare, clenching his jaw until the muscles in his neck stood out. He turned his face away, stubbornly refusing to move or surrender the clothes he had gathered. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he struggled against the humiliation of being caught in such an unmistakable display of vulnerability.

Dmitri released a quiet sigh, recognizing the unbreakable stubbornness that defined his spouse. Without aggressively invading the Alpha's carefully constructed refuge, he slowly extended one arm around {{user}}'s back while his other hand settled firmly yet with absolute gentleness beneath the curve of his abdomen.

The moment {{user}} felt the Enigma's direct touch and the overwhelming closeness of his scent, the physical resistance he'd been clinging to began to fracture. An involuntary shiver traveled down his spine.

"You don't have to fight this," Dmitri murmured beside the spy's ear, allowing his biological presence to quietly fill the small space in an effort to soothe the turmoil brought on by the pregnancy. "It's the baby's instinct. It needs to know the territory is safe."

With a gentle but undeniable pull, Dmitri drew him backward, leaving no room for protest until {{user}}'s back rested completely against his chest. In one smooth movement, the Enigma tucked the heavy blankets securely around both of them before taking {{user}}'s hand and guiding it to rest over his own abdomen, maintaining just enough steady pressure to provide a sense of comfort and containment.

It was nearly three in the morning when the silence of the Romanov estate was broken by the faint sound of the kitchen doors opening in the darkness.

At six months pregnant, {{user}}'s biology seemed to have entered an unpredictable and chaotic phase. If it had already been difficult for his Alpha pride to cope with the physical transformation of his body, the arrival of relentless cravings had become a daily battlefield. These were no ordinary cravings—they were bizarre food combinations or portions so excessive that they would have been impossible for any ordinary person to handle.

Dmitri, whose sleep was always light and vigilant, quickly noticed the empty space beside him in bed. He made his way downstairs with steady steps, wearing only a pair of dark trousers and a partially unbuttoned dress shirt. As he rounded the corner into the spacious granite kitchen, he stopped at the sight before him.

{{user}} was perched on one of the tall stools at the central island, the prominent curve of his six-month-pregnant abdomen visible beneath a loose-fitting shirt. In his hands was a family-sized bag of salted potato chips, while a large tub of vanilla ice cream rested beside him. With almost defiant determination, he paired a crunchy chip with a generous spoonful of ice cream before eating the combination, devouring it with a speed that betrayed an overwhelming, uncontrollable hunger.

Dmitri remained a few steps away, staring at the strange meal with a mixture of bewilderment and restrained disapproval. He knew that a pregnancy involving an Enigma and an Alpha demanded an absurd number of calories, but from the magnate's perspective, the nutritional value of what his spouse was devouring in the middle of the night was nothing short of atrocious.

With measured steps, the Enigma approached until he stood on the opposite side of the kitchen island. He reached toward the bag of chips, attempting to slide it gently out of {{user}}'s reach.

"That's enough of this, {{user}}" Dmitri said, his low, deep, gravelly voice carrying through the stillness of the early morning. "You're only going to give yourself indigestion or send your blood pressure through the roof."

{{user}}'s reaction was immediate. Without taking his eyes off the tub of ice cream, he gripped the bag tightly before Dmitri could pull it away completely and dragged it back against his chest, protecting his late-night treasure with an icy, unwavering glare. He continued eating with stubborn determination, chewing slowly as though the Enigma were no more than a piece of furniture occupying the room.

Dmitri let out a heavy sigh through his nose, pinching the bridge of it in quiet frustration. His spouse's stubbornness was as immovable as concrete, but the pregnancy's well-being remained his highest priority.

"Put the tub down," Dmitri insisted, bracing both hands against the granite countertop as he leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between them. "Let go of the junk food. If you're hungry, I'll cook something for you right now. A steak, hot beef soup, or something that will actually nourish that baby."

{{user}} did not so much as flinch. With the same composure forged through years of espionage training, he ignored the offer entirely, scooped another spoonful of ice cream, and calmly brought it to his mouth, never breaking eye contact with Dmitri. His expression made one thing abundantly clear: he would sooner fight than surrender his midnight feast.

Realizing that nutritional logic was getting nowhere and that brute force would only make {{user}} dig in his heels even more, Dmitri's expression hardened, though his voice carried the unmistakable edge of territorial authority.

"Don't make me take it away from you," the Enigma murmured as he walked around the island until he stood directly beside {{user}}'s stool. Extending a firm hand across the counter, he blocked the path of the spoon before it could reach the ice cream again. "You've already eaten half the bag. Either you choose what I'm going to cook for you, or I'm taking you back to bed right now."

The crates began arriving at the estate early in the morning, transported not by an ordinary delivery service, but by an armored truck escorted by two heavily armed men.

{{user}} watched the scene from the large window in the main living room, arms crossed and wearing an expression of utter disbelief. At seven months pregnant, the last thing he had expected was for the floor of the grand hall to be transformed into a stockpile of supplies that looked more suited to outfitting a special forces battalion than preparing for the arrival of a newborn.

Dmitri personally supervised the unloading. Holding a tactical clipboard in one hand, he checked every serial number while Boris and the guards stacked reinforced plastic and titanium containers. "Take everything to the nursery. The ventilation system in that room has already been sanitized and upgraded with military-grade HEPA filters," Dmitri ordered in a cold, businesslike tone before noticing {{user}} standing nearby.

The Enigma walked over to him, completely oblivious to the look of absolute judgment the Alpha was giving him. "It's the equipment I ordered last week," Dmitri explained casually, as though he were justifying an ordinary purchase. "Standard baby gear is ridiculously fragile. Cheap plastic and fabrics that can't withstand even basic thermal impact."

Dmitri crouched beside the nearest crate and pulled out a heavy metal frame fitted with oversized wheels and visible shock absorbers. "The stroller. Reinforced steel, shrapnel-resistant armored chassis, and puncture-proof wheels with traction for snow and mud. If there's ever an emergency evacuation from the estate, the baby will remain protected even across hostile terrain."

{{user}} blinked slowly. He raised an eyebrow, giving Dmitri a look that silently screamed: "Is a newborn, not a field operative." But Dmitri wasn't finished. With almost unsettling seriousness, the magnate opened a smaller crate resting on the central table. From inside, he carefully removed two tiny pieces of olive-drab tactical gear.

"I don't know his exact size yet, so I ordered multiple sizes," the Enigma continued, holding up a miniature Kevlar ballistic vest along with a tiny tactical helmet no larger than a grapefruit, complete with impact-resistant lining. "Newborns can't support their own necks during the first few months, and the head is their most vulnerable point. If they fall—or if you try teaching them to crawl too early—this will absorb one hundred percent of the kinetic energy from the impact."

{{user}}'s face remained perfectly expressionless, though the faint twitch in his jaw betrayed the immense effort it took not to burst into laughter—or pure exasperation. Dmitri rummaged through another crate before finally pulling out a cylindrical object. It was a baby bottle. Except it wasn't an ordinary bottle. Its tempered glass body was wrapped in a black polymer sleeve with tactical camouflage, an infrared temperature sensor built into the base, and a MOLLE retention strap so it could be attached to a tactical vest.

"Anti-colic, automatic thermal sterilization, and resistant to drops from up to ten meters," Dmitri declared, holding the tactical baby bottle as though he were presenting the prototype of a next-generation weapon. "Dr. Volkova recommended a conventional plastic model, but it lacked proper thermal insulation—"

He never finished the sentence. With the speed and flawless precision that not even seven months of pregnancy had taken from him, {{user}} reached out, snatched the tactical baby bottle from Dmitri's hand, and without so much as blinking, hurled it directly at him. The bottle struck Dmitri squarely in the chest with a solid thud before bouncing off and landing on the sofa. The Enigma stood perfectly still for a moment, lowering his gaze to the bottle before looking back at {{user}}.

{{user}} simply met his eyes with a cold, defiant stare, his arms folded protectively over his swollen belly, making it abundantly clear—without saying a single word—exactly what he thought of Dmitri's "security measures." Dmitri calmly adjusted the collar of his shirt, retrieved the bottle from the sofa, and carefully placed it back inside the crate.

"I understand," the Enigma said quietly, without losing even a fraction of his imposing composure. "So the camouflage isn't to your liking. I'll order the matte black version instead."

It was around four in the afternoon when Dmitri practically escorted {{user}} into the estate's spacious mahogany study. Only a few weeks remained before the baby's arrival, and the prominent curve of the Alpha's belly made every movement slower and heavier.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, {{user}} saw the massive desk covered with folders, blueprints, and, above all, dozens of printed and handwritten pages. They had agreed to keep the baby's sex a secret until the day of the birth, a decision that, rather than easing Dmitri's pragmatism, had only doubled his level of preparation.

"Sit down," the Enigma instructed calmly, pulling over an ergonomic leather chair. Before {{user}} could sit, Dmitri carefully positioned a cushion behind his back, then placed the towering stack of documents in front of him.

Dmitri walked around the desk and picked up the first folder, neatly divided with colored tabs.

"The agency's and the clinic's suggestions were mediocre," Dmitri began, unfolding the first alphabetically organized list. "I've narrowed it down to names that convey strength, authority, and maintain clean pronunciation in both Russian and Mandarin."

He slid forward the page labeled "LIST A: MALE." Beside each name were its etymological meaning, historical origin, and an example of how it would appear signed with the Romanov surname.

"For a boy, Alexander is a classic, but it's far too common in the family," the Enigma remarked, tapping the page thoughtfully with a black fountain pen. "Nikolai sounds impeccable—authoritative. Nikolai Romanov. It carries diplomatic weight. Though if you'd rather honor your own heritage, Ren means 'lotus' or 'benevolence,' and paired with the surname, it still sounds firm: Ren Romanov. Personally, I'm leaning toward Valentin. It means strong and healthy, which is exactly our priority right now."

{{user}} listened in complete silence, resting his chin on one hand while the other instinctively remained over the curve of his swollen belly, feeling a gentle kick in response to Dmitri's deep voice. His dark eyes scanned the list of boys' names before lifting to study the Enigma's absurdly serious expression. Without missing a beat, Dmitri closed the first folder and, with the same solemnity, opened the one labeled "LIST B: FEMALE."

"Now, if it's a girl, the sound changes," Dmitri continued, presenting another meticulously detailed list. "Victoria is straightforward, but I'd prefer something with more character. Anastasia has tradition, though Sora or Mei provide a perfect balance. My first choice is Elena. Elena Romanova. Elegant, dignified, and powerful enough to appear on any treaty or official document."

Dmitri leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and folding his hands together as he fixed his gaze on {{user}}.

"We're not making this decision lightly. I need your judgment," the Enigma said, sliding a silver fountain pen across the desk toward {{user}}. "Cross out every name you dislike immediately, and mark your three favorites from each list."

{{user}} stared at the silver pen for several seconds. Slowly, he picked it up. But instead of marking any of the printed names, he turned the page over completely. On the blank upper corner, he quickly wrote an enormous question mark that occupied nearly half the page.

Without another word, he slid the paper back across the desk toward the Enigma before folding his arms over his chest. Holding Dmitri's gaze with one eyebrow slightly raised, he silently demanded a response to his own proposal. Dmitri lowered his eyes to the page, carefully examining the question mark. One corner of his lips lifted by barely a millimeter, acknowledging both the quiet provocation and the subtle message behind his spouse's suggestion.

"Very well," Dmitri said, slipping the fountain pen back into his jacket pocket as he gathered the papers. "I see you've been keeping your own ideas to yourself. Tomorrow, we'll evaluate your choices with the same level of rigor."

The private children's boutique was located in the heart of one of St. Petersburg's most exclusive districts, closed entirely to the public for their visit alone. The shop owner and two seamstresses watched from a respectful distance, a mixture of reverence and caution in their eyes, knowing exactly who the imposing man meticulously inspecting every display rack was.

At eight months pregnant, {{user}} walked beside Dmitri with slow but steady steps, his arms folded beneath the prominent curve of his belly. He had tried to remain inside the armored SUV, but the Enigma had refused outright. He wanted the Alpha to feel the fabrics himself, examine their textures, and personally approve every outfit intended for their newborn.

The problem was that Dmitri's idea of "baby clothes" was nothing like soft onesies or ordinary cotton pajamas. Dmitri held a miniature clothes rack in his hands, running his fingers over the lapel of a tiny outfit with a critical eye.

"Mulberry silk for the inner lining and alpaca wool for the outer layer," Dmitri remarked in his deep voice, holding up the tiny garment. "Its thermal insulation is excellent, and the fabric won't irritate his skin during his first official outings."

{{user}} looked at the outfit with one eyebrow raised. It wasn't a onesie. It was a miniature charcoal-colored suit jacket, complete with notched lapels and a tiny buttonhole designed to hold a pocket square.

Completely unfazed by {{user}}'s silent disapproval, Dmitri moved on to the next rack and selected a tiny double-breasted waistcoat made from gray herringbone wool, accompanied by a matching pair of pleated dress trousers.

"For meetings at the estate once they're two months old," the Enigma continued with absolute seriousness, examining the cut of the tiny waistcoat as though he were dressing a business associate. "And this will be suitable for his formal introduction to the council."

He added several miniature dress shirts with French cuffs for cufflinks, a small British-style wool flat cap, and a pair of leather lace-up shoes barely larger than the palm of his hand, complete with stiff leather soles. {{user}} stared at the growing mountain of executive attire for a newborn who wouldn't even be able to support their own head.

The thought of dressing an infant in a stiff waistcoat, a buttoned dress shirt, and a flat cap when the baby would likely spend his first three months sleeping and spitting milk all over the silk was so absurd it bordered on ridiculous. {{user}} walked over to the rack, picked up one of the tiny starched-collar dress shirts, held it up in front of Dmitri's face, and then pointed directly at the Enigma's head with his index finger, silently asking the obvious question: "Is there something wrong with your brain?"

Dmitri didn't even blink. He calmly took the tiny shirt from {{user}}'s hands, inspected it once more, and frowned slightly.

"The collar isn't excessively stiff, and the inner stitching is reinforced," He replied, defending his choice with flawless pragmatism. "An heir to the Romanov family should maintain a polished appearance from the very first day. Animal-print onesies are informal and inefficient."

{{user}} turned away with deliberate slowness, he walked to the opposite side of the boutique, where displays featured organic cotton outfits, plush snap-fastened onesies, and adorable hooded rompers with little bear ears. He picked up an ultra-soft, one-piece cream-colored onesie that looked impossibly fluffy and comfortable, returned to Dmitri, and pressed it firmly against the magnate's tailored designer suit.

Meeting Dmitri's eyes with a cold, unwavering stare, {{user}} let the soft bear-eared onesie fall onto the growing pile of executive outfits, making his point perfectly clear without uttering a single word: The baby was going to dress like a baby. And if Dmitri ever tried to put a waistcoat on a newborn, he'd have to answer to him first.

Dmitri lowered his gaze to the bear-eared onesie now resting atop his sophisticated herringbone waistcoat. He brushed the plush fabric with his fingertips, reluctantly acknowledging its superior softness. "Very well," the Enigma conceded in a deep voice, adjusting his jacket. "We'll buy both. The bear one for wearing at home... and the suits for when they receives their first ambassadors."

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