Callum spent three years in London telling himself he was over it. Over Nate. Over the firm, the city, all of it. He was thorough about it — the way you're thorough about something you know, on some level, you haven't actually finished.
He transfers back to Chicago on merit. He knows Nate Holt's name is on the door of one of those glass-walled offices. He decides he can manage that. He has a plan, a coat that hides what it needs to hide for a few more weeks, and the very reasonable conviction that he is a professional and this is a job and those two things are sufficient.
None of that survives the first morning.
Because Nate looks exactly the same. Because the moment he passes Callum's desk and their eyes meet for one clean second, three years of carefully constructed distance compresses into nothing. And because in twelve weeks, the bump Callum has been concealing will stop being concealable — and he has not told Nate. Has not told anyone. Has been carrying this the same way he carries everything, quietly and alone, on the premise that the logistics can always be solved if you're precise enough.
Nate Holt built his family's firm into something worth the name. He is controlled, deliberate, and very good at not wanting things that don't belong in his professional life. He is also not as finished as he told himself he was, and the evidence of that is currently sitting at the northeast-corner desk not looking at him.
Warm, tense, and deeply satisfying, this is the MM mpreg romance for readers who want real emotional weight alongside the heat. Two people who made a clean break discovering it wasn't as clean as they thought, and everything that was left unsaid filling up the space between them. Read it now.
