On the first day of the new year, the Fowlers were on the way to welcome a new member into the family.

Waylen was behind the wheel, his focus steady on the road, while Korbyn provided directions.

Rena held Cecilia in her arms. While Edwin, who had insisted on accompanying them, sat next to Rena.

Cecilia broke out in a cold sweat because of the pain.

She was sweating profusely. Clutching onto Rena's waist, she called out Rena's name, her voice strained, as if she were speaking in her sleep.

Rena tenderly rubbed Cecilia's belly, offering soothing words.

"You'll be fine as soon as you arrive at the hospital."

Upfront, Waylen's grip on the steering wheel was firm, his attention solely on the road.

The snowy night made the journey treacherous; every turn had to be navigated with extreme caution. Hence, he didn't allow his attention to wander elsewhere.

He drove himself, deeply concerned for both his sister's and the baby's safety, unwilling to leave anything to chance.

Half an hour later, the black Bentley came to a halt at the hospital, and a team of medical staff swiftly approached, rolling a stretcher toward them. Cecilia was gently transferred onto it and rushed straight to the delivery room.

In the grip of pain, Cecilia was in a daze, her mind clouded.

In her delirium, she muttered a name that still held her heart captive.

Mark.

Waylen was taken aback.

He tenderly leaned down and kissed his sister's forehead and whispered in a hoarse voice, "I'll call him, Cecilia.”

“No. Don't do that."

Cecilia, amidst her pain, shook her head weakly.

Sweat streamed down Cecilia's forehead, and embarrassment tinged her face. Tears welled up in her eyes as she pleaded, “Waylen, please don't call him."

Waylen's eyes were heavy.