Archer's expression cooled almost imperceptibly. "What about it?"
"The director called again. They still want to capture the baby. Just a few photos. Very tasteful. Nothing exploitative."
"No."
"Archer—"
"No." His voice was firm but not angry. Just final. "My son is not content. He's not a prop for your career. He's a person."
"They wouldn't use his name. Just—"
"No."
Alexa pressed her lips together. "The pregnancy shoot went well. The fans are invested. They want to see—"
"I don't care what the fans want." Archer looked up at her, his eyes dark. "I care about protecting him. That's my job. His father. Not yours, not the director's, not anyone else's."
The silence stretched between them.
Alexa wanted to argue. Wanted to point out all the opportunities, all the money, all the carefully built momentum that would be lost. But something in Archer's expression stopped her.
He wasn't going to budge.
Not on this.
"Fine," she said quietly. "But when he's older—"
