baby — ten (Patreon)

A/N: And just like that, we have reached the end. Saying goodbye to this 10-part journey is incredibly bittersweet. When I first started writing this universe, I never could have imagined how much I would fall in love with them. A massive, heartfelt thank you to my early access readers for cheering them on from the very beginning. let me know if you liked the end.

Y/N felt her stomach drop. She stared at Aaron, her fingers gripping her red pen so hard the plastic groaned.

The sheer audacity of it was actually mind-blowing. He was sitting at her desk, in her office, casually insulting the man she loved just because she wouldn't go to a pub with him.

For a split second, she wanted to scream at him. She wanted to slap the smug, bitter smirk right off his face. But then she remembered exactly whose schedule she was on. Harry didn't yell. Harry dismantled people quietly, with absolute, freezing precision.

Y/N took a deep breath. She set her pen down with a sharp click.

"Are you quite finished?" Y/N asked.

Her voice wasn't loud. It didn't tremble. It was deadpan and freezing cold, instantly stripping the mocking amusement from Aaron’s face.

Aaron shifted uncomfortably in the cheap rolling chair, his brow furrowing. "I'm just saying—"

"I heard exactly what you said," Y/N cut him off, her tone sharp and unforgiving. "And it is, without a doubt, the most pathetic display of a bruised ego I have ever witnessed."

Aaron’s amber eyes widened in shock. "Excuse me?"

"You invited me to a pub. I politely declined because I am doing my job," Y/N stated clinically, dismantling him with the same ruthless precision she used on his manuscript. "And instead of accepting that rejection with a shred of grace, you instantly decided to attack the man I love. You are attempting to weaponize his age because you are deeply insecure about the fact that all of your youth, all of your boyish charm, and all of your bestselling fame could not get me to look at you for a single second.”

A dark, humiliated flush crept rapidly up Aaron’s neck. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Y/N didn't give him an inch of space. She leaned forward, lowering her voice so the nosy junior editors nearby couldn't hear.

"Harry is twice the man you will ever be, Aaron," she told him firmly. "He doesn't need to demean other men to feel secure. The fact that you think a man's ability to be a devoted partner has an expiration date just proves exactly how much growing up you still have to do."

Aaron swallowed hard, his jaw tight. The arrogant author had been completely shut down, leaving behind exactly what Harry had called him: a boy.

Y/N picked up her red pen again. She looked entirely, devastatingly bored by his presence.

"Get out of my chair," Y/N ordered, returning her eyes to Chapter Twelve. "From this moment forward, my professional boundaries are not a request. We will only communicate regarding this manuscript via email. If you come to my desk to discuss anything other than these edits, I will go directly to Elena and have myself removed from your project. Are we clear?"

Aaron stared at her. He looked completely shell-shocked.

"Loud and clear," he muttered, his voice tight with embarrassment. He stood up abruptly and practically fled back toward the executive suites, leaving the rolling chair abandoned in the aisle.

Y/N didn't watch him leave. She kept her eyes on the paper, her hand hovering over the text.

Beneath the desk, her knees were shaking slightly from the adrenaline. She had done it. She had completely protected her relationship and put him in his place.

But as she stared blindly at the printed words, the venom of Aaron’s insult still poked at the back of her brain. Does he want to get married and have kids?

Harry worshipped her. He showered her in luxury, he claimed her body with terrifying devotion, and he literally built her a sanctuary in his home. But they hadn't actually talked about the future. They had been entirely consumed by the heavy, intoxicating reality of the present.

She needed to see him. She couldn't wait until six o'clock to feel the grounding weight of his hands on her.

Y/N reached for her phone, pulling up the contact saved for Harry's driver. She didn't hesitate.

Have the car at the front of Ink and Bone at 4:00 PM, she typed rapidly. Take me to Vanguard Holdings.

The drive from the creative, chaotic streets of Hackney to the sterile, high-stakes financial district of the City of London was a stark transition.

The black car glided to a smooth halt in front of the towering glass and steel monolith that served as the global headquarters for Vanguard Holdings. The driver, a broad-shouldered man from Harry’s private security detail, immediately stepped out to open her door.

Y/N stepped onto the pavement, pulling her wool coat tighter around her cream silk blouse.

The lobby of Vanguard Holdings was an intimidating expanse of white marble, brushed steel, and absolute corporate power. Men and women in thousand-pound bespoke suits moved with frantic, ruthless energy. It was a world designed to make people feel small.

Y/N didn't shrink. She had been here enough times to know exactly how to carry herself. She kept her chin up, channeling the exact same unbothered, lethal confidence Harry wore so effortlessly. Her heels clicked a sharp, steady rhythm against the marble as she walked straight toward the main security desk.

Ralph, the towering head of lobby security, immediately broke into a warm, familiar smile the second he saw her.

"Good afternoon, Y/N," Ralph greeted, not even bothering to reach for the visitor log. He swiped a black master keycard against the private turnstile for her. "He isn’t expecting you, is he?"

"No, a bit of a surprise visit today, Ralph," Y/N smiled gratefully, stepping through. "Is he upstairs?"

"Always," Ralph nodded. "Go straight up."

The ride to the top floor in the private executive elevator was silent and fast, her stomach dropping slightly as the car shot up thirty stories.

When the metal doors slid open, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The frantic energy of the lobby vanished, replaced by a heavy, soundproofed luxury. The executive floor smelled of rich mahogany, fresh espresso, and the faint, familiar bite of Harry’s cedarwood cologne.

Andrea, Harry’s highly efficient and normally unflappable secretary, looked up from her polished desk. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"Y/N!" Andrea breathed, quickly standing up. "He didn't tell me you were coming in."

"He doesn't know. I needed to see him," Y/N replied smoothly, dropping her tote bag onto a nearby leather sofa. She looked toward the heavy, solid oak double doors of Harry's private office. "Is he alone?"

Andrea grimaced slightly, lowering her voice. "Not exactly. He’s got five of the senior VPs in there right now. They are right in the middle of a massive structural review for the Henderson acquisition. It’s been tense all afternoon."

"Thank you, Andrea," Y/N smiled politely. She didn't hesitate. She walked right past the secretary's desk.

Y/N didn't knock. She simply pushed one of the heavy oak doors open and stepped into the room.

Six older, incredibly intimidating men in dark suits were gathered around the seating area in front of his desk, staring intensely at a series of financial documents.

Harry was standing behind his desk. He had taken his suit jacket off. His crisp white shirt was rolled up to his forearms. He was in the middle of speaking, his voice a low, commanding whip that demanded absolute silence in the room. He looked like a god among corporate mortals, ruthless, brilliant, and entirely in control.

Harry glanced up at the interruption, his jaw tight with annoyance.

The second his green eyes landed on Y/N, the ruthless ceo vanished completely. He stopped speaking mid-sentence. His entire posture shifted, the hard lines of his face instantly softening into a look of focused, overwhelming concern.

"We are done here," Harry announced flatly.

The room erupted into confused murmurs. The man sitting closest to the desk, a senior vice president, leaned forward in disbelief. "Styles, we haven't finalized the asset liquidation. If we stop now, the markets will—"

"I said, we are done," Harry barked, his voice dropping into a deadly, uncompromising growl that made the older man physically flinch. "Leave the files. Clear my office. Now."

No one argued twice. The executives quickly gathered their tablets, throwing highly curious, side-eye glances at Y/N as they rapidly filed out of the room.

The second the heavy oak door clicked shut behind the last man, completely sealing them in the soundproofed office, Harry closed the distance between them.

"Darling," he breathed, his large hands immediately coming up to cup her face. His thumbs brushed over her cheekbones, his eyes scanning her face frantically for any sign of tears or physical distress. "It's four o'clock. You're supposed to be at the publishing house. What happened?"

The absolute, unshakeable devotion in his voice nearly broke he composure. Y/N let out a long, shaky exhale, melting into his touch. Her hands came up to grip his strong wrists.

"I'm okay," she promised softly, stepping closer to press her chest against his. "I just... I needed to see you."

Harry's racing pulse slowed slightly, but his eyes remained dark and intensely focused. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him, burying his face in her hair. "Tell me exactly what happened, Y/N."

She stayed tucked in the safety of his arms and told him. She kept her voice steady as she recounted the encounter with Aaron. The rejected pub invitation, the bruised ego, and the bitter, disrespectful comments at her desk.

When she told him that Aaron had called him "too old," Harry actually laughed.

It was a low, dark, incredibly arrogant sound that vibrated against her chest. He pulled back just enough to look down at her, a wicked, mocking smirk curving his lips.

"He called me old?" Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Fucking hell. Is that really the best the boy could come up with? He must be truly desperate if he's resorting to basic age demographics to try and impress you."

"I handled it," Y/N assured him, her chin tilting up with pride. "I told him exactly how pathetic he was, and I restricted him to email communication only. He looked like he was going to cry when I was done with him."

"What a ruthless girl," Harry praised smoothly, his eyes flashing with a dark, heavy pride. He leaned down, pressing a hard, approving kiss to her lips. "I am incredibly proud of you for putting him in his place. Though I still might buy Ink and Bone tomorrow just to fire him."

"Harry," she warned playfully, though her smile faded slightly as the final part of the conversation returned to the forefront of her mind. "There was... one other thing he said. To try and get under my skin."

Harry caught the shift in her tone immediately. The arrogant amusement vanished. "What did he say?"

Y/N took a breath, looking up into his piercing green eyes. "He asked if you wanted to get married and have kids. He said... he said a man of your caliber couldn't give me that anymore. That you wouldn't want a future like that."

The air in the private office completely froze.

Harry went absolutely rigid. The confident, cheeky smirk was wiped from his face so fast it was terrifying. His green eyes darkened into a shade of black so deep it looked like a void. The shift wasn't just anger; it was a violent, primal possessiveness that instantly consumed every inch of the room.

"He said what?" Harry asked, his voice dropping into a deadly, vibrating whisper.

"Harry, I didn't listen to him," Y/N rushed to clarify, suddenly hyper-aware of the sheer danger radiating off the man holding her. "I know he was just trying to hurt me because his ego was bruised."

He didn't say a word. He turned around, walked over to the heavy oak doors of his office, and threw the deadbolt. The sharp, metallic click of the lock echoed like a gunshot in the silent, completely secluded room.

But he didn't cross the room and rip her clothes off.

Instead, Harry let out a long, slow exhale. The muscle feathering in his jaw relaxed. He leaned back against the heavy oak door, crossing his arms over his chest as he simply looked at her. A slow, wicked, and entirely arrogant smirk began to curve the corners of his lips.

"Too old," Harry repeated, his voice a low, vibrating hum that seemed to carry through the floorboards. "I suppose I should be offended. I did just finish a rather aggressive ten-mile run this morning before that boy even had his first cup of coffee."

Y/N let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, a helpless, breathless laugh escaping her. The dangerous, suffocating tension in the room instantly shifted into something heavy, magnetic, and incredibly teasing.

"I tried to tell him you have excellent stamina," Y/N joked softly, the adrenaline still buzzing in her veins.

"Did you?" Harry chuckled darkly. He pushed off the door, his movements fluid and unhurried as he walked over to the antique crystal wet bar sitting in the corner of his office. He poured a single finger of amber scotch into a glass. "You should have reminded him that my knees held up perfectly fine on the hardwood floor of your office last night."

Y/N’s cheeks burned instantly. "Harry, I wasn't going to discuss our sex life in the middle of an open-plan publishing house."

"Why not?" Harry asked smoothly, taking a slow sip of his scotch. He looked over the rim of the glass at her, his green eyes flashing with pure, unfiltered mischief. "I am quite proud of my work. I would gladly submit my performance for peer review."

"You are impossible," she smiled, shaking her head.

Harry set the glass down. He didn't stay across the room. He closed the distance between them with slow, deliberate, predatory steps until he was standing just inches away from her. He didn't touch her, but his sheer proximity and the heat radiating off his body were completely intoxicating.

"So," Harry murmured, leaning down slightly so his mouth was hovering just above her ear. "Since my age has suddenly become a topic of corporate interest... tell me, darling. Exactly how many children does he think I can't give you?"

Y/N’s breath hitched. "Harry..."

"I need to know, Y/N," he teased, his breath ghosting over her neck, sending a violent shiver down her spine. "I am a man who likes to plan his investments. If we are having three, I will need to look into purchasing a country estate. The house is massive, but I don't want toy cars scratching the marble floors."

Y/N turned her head, looking up into his eyes. She expected to see him completely joking, but beneath the cheeky, arrogant banter, the look in his green eyes was intensely, terrifyingly sincere. He wasn't playing.

"You want a country estate?" she whispered, her heart doing a frantic, heavy flutter against her ribs.

"I want whatever you want," Harry answered effortlessly, his large hand coming up to gently cup her jaw. His thumb stroked her cheekbone. "If you want a massive wedding at a cathedral in Italy, I will buy out the Vatican. If you want to elope in a registry office in Chelsea tomorrow, I will cancel all of my afternoon meetings."

"You have a board meeting," she breathed, completely melted by the absolute, grounding devotion in his voice.

"The board can wait. They work for me. I work for you," he corrected, a soft, incredibly boyish smile breaking through his sharp, aristocratic features. "I am forty-five years old, Y/N. I don't play games, and I do not waste time. And I certainly don't let twenty-something kids dictate the timeline of my relationship."

He stepped closer, backing her up until her thighs hit the edge of his massive executive desk. He didn't lift her onto it. He simply caged her in, his hands resting on the mahogany on either side of her hips.

"You aren't just a fling or someone temporary to me, Y/N," Harry told her, his voice dropping an octave, losing all of its teasing edge. It was a heavy, profound promise. "I am playing for keeps. I want the entire future. I want the marriage, I want the kids, and I want you looking exactly like this when I am old, gray, and forcing a nurse to push my wheelchair around the house.”

Tears of pure, overwhelming emotion pricked at the corners of Y/N’s eyes. She brought her hands up, resting them flat against the crisp white cotton of his shirt, feeling the steady, thundering beat of his heart.

"I want that too," Y/N whispered, her voice thick. "I don't care how old you are, Harry. I just want you."

Harry’s eyes darkened. He let out a low, rough exhale, leaning down to press a slow, deeply tender kiss to her lips. It wasn't frantic or demanding. It was a complete, absolute surrender.

When he pulled back, he reached into the pocket of his tailored trousers. He didn't pull out a velvet ring box, but what he did pull out carried just as much permanent, terrifying weight.

He placed a heavy, matte black keycard onto the desk beside her.

"This is the master access card to the townhouse," Harry told her, holding her gaze with an uncompromising certainty. "It overrides security. It gives you access to the private garage, the private elevator, and every room in my home. It is yours."

Y/N stared at the small piece of black plastic.

"Harry," she whispered. "Are you asking me to move in?"

"I am officially notifying you that your lease in Hackney is no longer necessary," he corrected smoothly, his wicked smirk returning as he picked up her left hand, pressing a soft kiss to her ring finger. "Bring whatever you want. But from tonight forward, it is your home too"

He didn't need to throw her on the desk to prove his dominance. He had completely rewritten the rules of the game. Aaron had tried to use the future as a weapon, and Harry had effortlessly used it to build them a permanent empire.

Y/N looked from the keycard up to the man who held the world in the palm of his hand, and smiled.

"Okay," she breathed.

"Okay," Harry repeated softly. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers, the promise of a very thorough, very private celebration lingering heavily in the air between them. "Now... unless you actually want to ruin my filing system, I suggest we leave before my board of directors stages a mutiny outside that door."

Harry didn't buy out the Vatican.

Despite the fact that Vanguard Holdings had a record-breaking year, and Harry could have easily rented out Westminster Abbey and flown in a thousand corporate guests on private jets, their wedding was the exact opposite of a billionaire's spectacle.

It happened on a quiet, overcast Tuesday in late October.

They drove out to a tiny, historic stone chapel in the Cotswolds. There was no press, and absolutely no networking. The guest list consisted of exactly five people: Y/N’s father and mother, Harry’s mother, and two of their closest friends to serve as witnesses.

Y/N wore a simple, breathtakingly elegant silk slip dress with a vintage lace veil that trailed lightly over the ancient stone floor. Harry, ever the traditionalist, wore a three-piece suit that made him look terrifyingly handsome.

But when the heavy wooden doors of the chapel opened and Y/N began to walk down the short, candlelit aisle, the untouchable ceo openly wept.

He didn't try to hide it. As she stopped in front of him, slipping her hands into his trembling ones, a single tear tracked down his sharp cheekbone. His green eyes were completely overwhelmed, shining with a depth of love that simply could not be quantified, bought, or negotiated.

Their vows were quiet, meant only for each other and the echoing rafters of the small church. When Harry slid the heavy, gold band onto her left hand, resting it perfectly beneath her engagement ring, his thumb brushed lovingly over her knuckles.

"I told you I was playing for keeps," he whispered, a tearful, breathtaking smile breaking across his face as he echoed the promise he had made in his office years ago.

"Always," Y/N promised back, her own vision blurring with happy tears.

When the vicar finally pronounced them husband and wife, Harry didn't kiss her with polite, public restraint. He pulled her flush against his chest, burying his hands in her hair, and kissed her with a deep, consuming adoration that stole the breath straight from her lungs.

The transition into married life only deepened the heavy, magnetic devotion between them. And exactly six months after the wedding, Harry’s promise of the entire future finally caught up to them.

It was a completely ordinary Thursday morning in the Mayfair townhouse. Harry was standing in the master bathroom, dressed in his suit trousers and a crisp white shirt, knotting his silk tie in the mirror as he prepared to go into the office and dismantle a rival firm.

Y/N walked into the bathroom, her hands shaking slightly. She didn't say a word. She simply walked up beside him and set the small, white plastic stick on the marble vanity, right next to his expensive cedarwood cologne.

Harry paused mid-knot. He looked down.

The man who regularly managed billions of pounds without breaking a sweat, completely short-circuited.

He stared at the two bright pink lines for a long, heavy moment. He blinked once. Twice. Then, he slowly turned his head to look at her, his green eyes wide and completely blown out with shock.

"Y/N," Harry breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "Is this...?"

"Yes," she laughed softly, tears already spilling down her cheeks.

Harry didn't hug her right away. Instinct took over. The man who bowed to absolutely no one immediately dropped to his knees on the cold marble floor. He wrapped his arms tightly around her hips, pressing his face directly against her completely flat stomach.

"A baby," he murmured into the soft cotton of her pajamas, his broad shoulders shaking slightly as the reality hit him. He pressed a flurry of hot, reverent kisses to her stomach, completely uncaring that his expensive trousers were on the bathroom floor. "You're giving me a baby."

He stayed on his knees for a long time, holding her as if she were the most precious, fragile thing in the entire world. He was late to his board meeting that day. In fact, he canceled all his meetings for the rest of the week, utterly refusing to leave her side.

Seven Months Later

It was a brilliant, sunny Sunday morning in London. The heavy drapes in the Mayfair townhouse were pulled wide open, flooding the state-of-the-art kitchen with warm, golden light.

Y/N was in an impossibly good mood. She had her favorite playlist humming softly through the house speakers, and she was practically skipping across the polished hardwood floor as she gathered ingredients for pancakes.

She was incredibly, beautifully pregnant. She was wearing a pair of loose, comfortable mom jeans whose button had long since surrendered, held up by a soft maternity band. On top, she had stolen one of Harry's classic white t-shirts. Because of the prominent, heavy swell of her seven-month belly, the shirt had become entirely too short, riding up to leave the bottom curve of her bare stomach completely exposed to the warm air.

She didn't care. She felt entirely comfortable, completely safe, and ridiculously loved. She did a happy, waddling little skip toward the fridge, humming along to the music.

Sitting at the massive marble kitchen island was Harry.

He was dressed down in soft gray sweatpants and a dark t-shirt, a mug of black coffee resting in his hands. He wasn't looking at his phone. He wasn't reading the financial times. He was completely, utterly captivated by the woman skipping around his kitchen.

His green eyes tracked her every movement, a soft, devastatingly fond smile playing on his lips. He watched the way the white t-shirt fluttered, exposing the bare skin of her belly, and his chest expanded with a profound, heavy ache of pure adoration.

As Y/N skipped past the island with a carton of eggs, Harry reached out. His large, warm hand effortlessly caught her waist, spinning her gently and pulling her directly between his parted knees.

"Hi," Y/N giggled, resting her hands on his broad shoulders.

"Hi," Harry rumbled, his voice thick with sleep and absolute worship.

He didn't look at her face right away. He leaned forward, his face burying directly into the exposed, bare curve of her stomach where the white t-shirt rode up. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her skin, his large hands splaying out warmly over her hips.

Right on cue, the baby gave a sharp, noticeable kick directly against Harry’s cheek.

Harry let out a low, incredibly warm chuckle, turning his head to press another kiss right over the spot. "Good morning to you too, little one. Stop kicking your mother, she's trying to make breakfast."

Y/N ran her fingers through the soft, messy chaos of his morning curls, her heart swelling until she thought it might physically burst.

Harry slowly tilted his head back to look up at her. The golden sunlight caught the sharp, aristocratic lines of his face, illuminating the absolute peace in his green eyes. The ruthless CEO was nowhere to be found. This was a man who had everything he had ever wanted, right here between his knees.

Aaron had asked what her future looked like. He had tried to weaponize Harry's age, implying that a man of his caliber couldn't give her the domestic, beautiful life she deserved.

But as Harry looked up at her—at his wife, at the mother of his child, standing in the home they had built together—he pulled her down for a slow, breathtakingly tender kiss that tasted of coffee and forever.

He had promised her the entire world in that office two years ago. And as he wrapped his arms around her and their unborn child, holding them close against his chest, Y/N knew with absolute certainty that he had delivered on every single word.