The days following their tearful embrace on the balcony stretched into a tense, anticipatory wait. Stiles tracked her cycle meticulously, using a discreet app on her phone, marking the days until her ovulation peaked—the window when their desperate plan had the best chance of succeeding. Derek, ever the planner, arranged everything with quiet efficiency. He owned a secluded guesthouse on the outskirts of the city, a modern retreat nestled in wooded hills, far from prying eyes. He’d had it prepared in secret: fresh linens, stocked kitchen, and a few personal touches he hoped would make the night less clinical, more… intimate.