Sweet Love 2x: Miss Ruthless CEO for our Superstar Uncle

Chapter 393: It’s Time

The contractions woke her at two in the morning.

They were unlike anything she had felt before — not the gentle flutters of the baby moving, not the contractions that had come and gone over the past weeks. These were deep, powerful, rolling waves of pressure that started in her lower back and spread through her entire abdomen. They left her breathless.

She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 2:07 AM.

She glanced at Franz, sleeping beside her, his face slack with exhaustion, his hand resting on her belly where he’d left it hours ago. He needed rest. He had barely slept in days.

She didn’t wake him.

Instead, she sat up and reached for her phone. The contraction app was already open. She pressed the button as the current contraction peaked, then released it as the pain began to fade.

More than ten minutes apart.

She had read, somewhere, that first-time mothers often second-guessed early labor. But she wasn’t second-guessing this. The pressure was too distinct, too rhythmic, too insistent to be anything else. She thought about waking Franz. She looked at him lying there, his jaw finally slack, his shoulders finally loose, and thought: a few more minutes. He could have a few more minutes.

She sat in the darkness, her back against the headboard, her hands resting on her belly, and waited. The contractions came and went — strong, then fading, then strong again. Ten minutes apart. Then nine. Then eight.

She breathed through each wave the way the doctor had taught her, in through the nose, out through the mouth. She had a certainty, deep in her bones. Today was the day. Her son was coming.

Franz woke at dawn, the way he always did. His eyes opened to the pale gray light filtering through the curtains, and he reached for Arianne automatically. She wasn’t lying down. She was sitting up, her back against the headboard, her hair damp with sweat, her face pale and focused.

He was fully awake in an instant.

"What’s wrong? Is it—"

"It’s time." Her voice was even, but he heard something underneath it — a tightness, a strain. "The contractions started. They’re getting closer."

"Why didn’t you wake me?"

"You were sleeping. You haven’t slept in days."

"I don’t care about sleep. I care about you. How long—"

"Since two. They’re about eight minutes apart now."

"Eight minutes. Aria, we should go. We should—"

"I need breakfast first."

He stopped. "Breakfast?"

"I’m not having a baby on an empty stomach. Something simple. Eggs. Toast. Coffee for both of us."

"You want coffee."

"You’re going to want coffee too. Trust me."

He didn’t argue. He helped her out of bed, his hands steady on her arms. She paused once as another contraction rolled through her. Her grip tightened on his arm, her knuckles white, and Franz felt his chest clench.

"Breathe," he said. "I’m here."

The contraction passed. She exhaled.

"Kitchen. Now."

He helped her down the stairs, one step at a time, his arm around her waist. In the kitchen, he settled her into a chair and turned to the refrigerator. Eggs. Bread. Butter. He cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked them with more focus than he had ever applied to anything in his life. The toast went into the toaster. The coffee began to brew. His hands were barely steady, but the rhythm of the work helped.

He thought about the hospital bag. Packed and sitting by the door. He had checked it twice last week, once on Tuesday and once on Thursday, going through the list Arianne had printed from the hospital website. Everything was there. It had been there for weeks. He had nothing to do now except make eggs and not fall apart.

"You’re very focused on that toast," Arianne said from behind him.

"I’m trying not to panic."

"It’s working. The toast looks good."

"Thank you. I’ve been practicing."

"I know. I’ve been eating your practice toast for weeks."

He plated the eggs, fluffy, the toast golden, and set it in front of her with a cup of coffee. She took a bite, then paused as another contraction hit. Her eyes closed. Her breathing went controlled and even. Franz watched the timer on his phone.

Seven minutes.

"We should go soon," he said.

"After I finish this."

"Arianne—"

"Franz. The hospital is fifteen minutes away. The contractions are seven minutes apart. I have time to eat my toast."

He wanted to argue. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to the car. Instead, he sat down beside her and drank his coffee. It was very good coffee. He barely tasted it.

Aunt Estella came downstairs an hour later. She took one look at Arianne, the pale face and controlled breathing and hand pressed to her belly, and stopped in the doorway.

"How far apart?"

"Six minutes now."

"And you’re sitting here eating toast?"

"I was hungry."

Aunt Estella shook her head, but something close to a smile crossed her mouth. "Franz. Take her to the hospital. I’ll handle things here."

"The twins—"

"I’ll make their breakfast and call Amanda. They can stay with their grandparents while you’re at the hospital. Go. Now. Before the contractions get any closer."

Franz helped Arianne to her feet. "Thank you. For everything."

"Go," Aunt Estella said again. "Call me when you’re there."

He helped Arianne upstairs. He helped her change into comfortable clothes, loose pants, a soft sweater, shoes she could slip on and off. He grabbed the hospital bag that had been packed for weeks, sitting by the door, waiting for this exact moment. Then they were in the car, and the dawn was breaking over the estate, pale gold light spilling across the drive.

Franz drove with one hand on the wheel and the other holding Arianne’s. Her grip tightened every few minutes as another contraction rolled through. He counted the seconds under his breath. The hospital got closer with every turn of the wheels.

Their son was coming.