[BL]Hunted by the God of Destruction-Chapter 280: Her

Chapter 280: Chapter 280: Her
Seven Days Later
The week before the birth folded itself into a strange stretch of time, soft and suffocatingly domestic in the way only Victor’s Mansion could be. The mansion, which was absolutely a palace in denial, draped in understated opulence and pretending it was
"just a family home,"
had gone silent under the rule of two people:
Elias, who was nesting, and Victor, who was orbiting him like a sentient gravitational field.
Elias moved through the mansion with an air of ruthless purpose. He reorganized the nursery twice, even though the nanny team assured him it was already optimal. Then he reorganized Victor’s desk when Victor wasn’t looking, even though it had been immaculate, almost militarily so.
Then he reorganized the entire pantry while being watched by horrified kitchen staff and Adam the butler, who stood frozen like a man witnessing a controlled demolition of his carefully curated kingdom.
"Sir," Adam said at one point, voice trembling at the sight of labeled containers being shuffled by color gradient instead of function, "the spices... used to be in alphabetical order."
"They’re in emotional order now," Elias said flatly, shifting jars like chess pieces. "Alphabetical doesn’t spark joy."
Adam blinked twice. "...Of course."
Victor stood behind Elias the entire time, arms crossed, face soft with adoration and awe and the kind of silent panic that comes from witnessing someone rearrange three hundred square meters of dry goods.
He didn’t interfere, didn’t question and didn’t even ask why quinoa now lived next to powdered sugar in a category labeled
"textures."
He simply followed Elias from room to room, offering water every twenty minutes, adjusting chairs to a safer angle, repositioning rugs by millimeters, and glowering at any staff member who approached Elias with the misguided bravery of a person who thought they could suggest he "take a break."
The mansion adapted to Elias’s nesting like a living organism: doors opened before him, hall lights softened, and heating vents recalibrated.
Victor didn’t even need to say anything, he simply existed nearby, and the house responded as if he were a divine thermostat set to
"protective spouse mode."
Elias pretended it annoyed him.
It didn’t.
He liked the way Victor hovered without crowding, helped without taking over, and loved without suffocating, except emotionally, which was unavoidable because Victor was Victor.
By nightfall, Elias always ended up tucked against him on their bed, surrounded by pillows Victor had fluffed into an architectural structure, half-walled in by warmth and loyalty and the faint hum of divine ether pulsing under Victor’s skin.
"Are you comfortable?" Victor would ask every night like it was the first time.
"No," Elias would answer automatically.
Victor would adjust blankets and tuck Elias against him anyway.
The truth was Elias had never felt safer.
And Victor had never loved anything more.
—
The VVIP Wing—Medical Suite, Numen General Hospital
On the morning of the scheduled C-section, the entire penthouse-level medical wing was quiet in a way that suggested bribes, threats, divine interference, or all three.
Elias sat on the VVIP bed, monitors gently blinking around him. The room smelled of antiseptic and wealth, a strangely calming combination.
Victor stood beside him in a fitted black turtleneck that was absolutely not hospital-approved but absolutely Victor-approved. He had not let go of Elias’s hand in twenty minutes.
Dr. Aylen stepped in with the serenity of someone who had treated gods before and knew the only thing more dangerous than divinity was paternal anxiety.
"It’s time," she said softly.
Elias nodded.
Victor didn’t.
He stared at Elias like the world was a fragile equation he refused to let break.
"Victor," Elias murmured, squeezing his hand. "You’re scaring the staff."
"They should be scared," Victor replied immediately. "You’re about to undergo invasive abdominal surgery."
Aylen scribbled something. "We do these every day."
"You haven’t done it on him," Victor said.
Elias sighed. "Please stop threatening the medical personnel."
—
The world reassembled itself slowly.
Light softened. Sound muted. Warmth returned one careful inch at a time.
Elias blinked awake in the recovery suite of the Medical Wing, the room dimmed to a gentle amber glow, curtains drawn, machines humming softly in a steady, reassuring rhythm.
His body felt heavy and distant, but not in a frightening way. More like he had been wrapped in layers of cotton and placed somewhere safe.
Victor sat in the chair beside the bed with the posture of a man who had fought physical laws to get as close as possible without climbing directly onto the mattress. His hand wrapped around Elias’s, thumb tracing the veins at his wrist as if memorizing their pulse.
"You’re in pain," he observed, not a question.
"It’s manageable," Elias murmured.
Victor snorted. "Why would you manage anything when you have me?"
Elias blinked. "Victor..."
Victor leaned forward, one hand braced on the mattress beside Elias’s hip, the other lightly curling around Elias’s wrist, his crimson eyes filled with possession.
"I promised to not interfere with fate, didn’t I? But I never said I would let you suffer after it is done." He smiled so brightly that Elias almost hit him. "I’m a god, Elias; what is the point of suffering?"
"You deranged... I never said I want to suffer now. Do your magic trick."
Victor’s smile widened, brilliant, pleased, and so unbearably smug that Elias briefly regretted regaining consciousness.
"As you command," Victor purred.
He lifted his hand, palm hovering just above Elias’s abdomen, close enough that Elias could feel the heat radiating off his skin but not enough to press down. Victor was always careful with pressure, always aware of pain.
Crimson light slipped out from beneath his fingers, smooth and contained, more like a breath sinking through fabric than any kind of grand display. It slid under the bandages and into flesh, warming deep muscle and tissue with a steady, controlled pulse that felt almost like exhaling after holding one’s breath too long.
Elias inhaled sharply as the ache receded, not all at once, but in an unmistakable, clean retreat that left his body looser, his shoulders lowering by a fraction.
Victor watched his face, not the glow. "Better?"
"Don’t get sentimental," Elias muttered, even as relief softened the edges of his voice.
Victor’s mouth curved. "I’m not sentimental," he said. "I’m efficient."
The last trace of warmth faded, leaving the incision intact, the reality of what had been done still written in his body, but without the harsh edges of pain attached to every breath. Elias shifted cautiously and found the movement bearable in a way it hadn’t been moments before.
"You’re welcome," Victor added, casually arrogant.
"You’re unbearable," Elias replied.
"And yet you keep letting me fix you," Victor said, bringing Elias’s hand up to brush his lips over his knuckles. "So I’ll assume you’re thrilled."
Elias narrowed his eyes at him, but there was no real heat in it. The pain was gone enough that exhaustion finally settled into its place, soft and heavy, making thoughts feel slower but clearer.
He let Victor hold his hand for another heartbeat. Then:
"Where is she?" Elias asked quietly.
Victor’s posture shifted instantly, an unmistakable straightening of spine and focus, like someone had spoken a command only he was allowed to obey.
"In the nursery lounge," he said. "The senior nurse is finishing her checklist."
"I want to see her," Elias murmured, already trying to sit up.
Victor pressed a palm lightly against his shoulder, not restraining, just guiding the movement into something less abrupt.
"You’ll see her," he said, lower now, warm in a way he didn’t use with anyone else. "You’re allowed to breathe first."
"I’m breathing," Elias argued. "Bring her."
Victor’s mouth curved, not in amusement exactly, but in that infuriating, private fondness he reserved for moments like this.
"You could try asking," he said, lifting Elias’s hand again and running his thumb along his knuckles as if mapping them.
"I thought I did," Elias replied.
Victor leaned closer, brushing his nose against Elias’s cheek in a gesture that was half affection, half claim. "That wasn’t asking," he murmured. "That was demanding."
"And?"
Victor let out a short breath that might have been a laugh if he weren’t so busy looking at Elias like he was the only thing worth focusing on.
"And I like it," he admitted.
Before Elias could respond, Victor’s gaze flicked toward the door; he sensed footsteps approaching long before anyone else would.
A soft knock followed. The door opened, and the nurse entered with the bassinet, its gold-edged blanket catching the low light as she wheeled it into the room with careful, practiced movements.
Elias felt his breath stop.
Victor didn’t take his eyes off Elias. He watched the shift in his expression, the sudden stillness, and the soft parting of lips. He watched it with the reverence of someone cataloguing a memory he intended to keep for centuries.
Then he stood, fluid and controlled, and crossed the short distance to the bassinet.
The nurse lowered her voice instinctively. "She’s settled, warm, and alert. No concerns. Would you like me to...?"
Victor cut her off with a polite but absolute, "No. I’ve got her."
He lifted the baby with the same confident ease he had with everything else, but his hands gentled without effort, cradling her as if she were weightless and impossibly precious. Her tiny face scrunched once in protest before she relaxed, recognizing warmth.
Victor’s smile softened.
Then he carried her back to Elias, holding her as if presenting something sacred.
"Here," he said, voice low, almost intimate. "She’s been waiting."
Elias’s breath trembled. "Victor—"
Victor adjusted the pillows behind him with one hand, because of course he could do three things at once, then positioned himself carefully at Elias’s side, lowering their daughter into Elias’s arms with a care that made the nurse step back in awe.
Elias looked down.
Tiny lashes. Black wisps of hair. A small mouth shaped in a perfect pout.
Everything in him went quiet.
Victor watched his face, not the baby.
"Elias," he murmured, leaning close, "she knows you."
Elias swallowed hard. "I... I know her too."
The baby shifted, a soft, searching sound escaping her, turning toward Elias instinctively.
Victor exhaled like that was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
And for once, he didn’t say anything arrogant.
He just rested his hand gently over Elias’s, both of them holding the child together.