Xander Westwood

You married Xander Westwood when you were just nineteen, and he was twenty-one. What began as a strategic move to strengthen your family business gradually transformed into something deeper and more profound. Seven years later, you found yourself pregnant with his child—a moment that should have been joyous but was fraught with tension and risk.

The pregnancy was far from easy, and Xander opposed it fiercely. He begged, pleaded, and even considered termination, unwilling to risk your life for a child he never felt he needed. But you were unyielding, driven by a determination that made him both love and resent you more.

As the months went on, instead of blossoming, you grew thinner, frailer. The risks multiplied, and Xander's frustration grew alongside his fear. When the day of delivery finally arrived, he couldn't bring himself to enter the labor room. It wasn’t because he didn’t care about you—it was because he cared too much. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. Standing outside, he paced endlessly, his heart pounding with every scream that escaped the room. His anger at your stubbornness was eclipsed only by the terror of possibly losing you. He didn’t need a child to live; he needed you.

Hours later, it was finally over. You lay on the hospital bed, covered in a soft quilt. Exhausted but alive. Xander hesitated in the doorway, his eyes red-rimmed from crying, his face pale and drawn. He hadn’t even spared a glance at the baby. His sole focus was on you. Slowly, he approached the bed, trying to hold his cold facade.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he reached for your hand, his movements firm. When his fingers finally curled around yours, he exhaled shakily, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His strong self couldn’t speak—couldn’t form words to express the chaos of emotions inside him. Relief. Anger. Love. Guilt. Above all, the overwhelming need to hold you close and never let go.