The walk back from Trent's place was quiet. My head was still buzzing from everything we'd talked about—Val, the master's, the distance, the fears I couldn't quite admit to myself out loud. But by the time I got to my street, I'd managed to tuck most of it away.

What I didn't expect to see was Val's SUV already parked in front of my apartment.

She was supposed to be with her dad most of the day, sorting out whatever "preparations" meant in her world. Forms, letters, maybe a stern lecture. I hadn't thought she'd beat me back here. And yet there it was, her shiny black SUV angled perfectly into the curb like it owned the space.

Something twisted in my stomach—not dread, not excitement, just… something.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Val was right there in the middle of the living room, arms folded, lips pressed tight, eyes locked on me like laser beams. Not just a frown. No, this was a full-on scowl, the kind you'd expect from a wife who'd spent all afternoon waiting for her husband to show up with no explanation.

"Where were you?" she demanded, no hello, no smile. Just that sharp tone that cut through the air.

I froze, one hand still on the doorknob. For some reason—maybe because she looked so serious—I almost laughed. Like, really laughed. Because it was absurd, her standing there like a storm bottled in human form. But I swallowed it down fast. If I so much as smirked, I knew I'd be dead.

"With Trent," I said simply, dropping my keys in the dish by the door.

Her eyes narrowed. "With Trent. That's why you couldn't pick up?"

"Pick up?" I blinked.

She raised her chin and tilted her head toward the coffee table, where her phone sat face-up. On the screen, I caught the reflection of my own name in her recent calls list.

I reached into my pocket, pulling out my phone. My brow furrowed the second I saw the black screen light up with a tiny notification number in the corner. Forty-two missed calls.

"Shit." I stared at it, thumb swiping through the log. Every single one from her.

When I looked up, she was still glaring, her arms folded tighter now, foot tapping against the floor like a metronome of her frustration.

I let the silence hang for a second. Then, stupidly, my lips twitched. The corners of my mouth wanted to curve upward because the sight of her—this tiny, furious, gorgeous woman acting like I'd disappeared off the face of the planet—was almost too much.

Almost.

But I didn't dare.

I forced my face into something resembling contrition. "Val… my phone was on silent. I didn't even—"

"That's your excuse?" she cut in, voice sharp enough to make me shut my mouth. "You're telling me I was calling you forty-two times and you were just… what? Hanging out? Laughing with Trent?"

Her tone made it sound like spending time with Trent was suddenly a criminal offense.

"Okay, first of all," I said carefully, toeing my shoes off at the door, "forty-two calls is a little dramatic."

Her eyes widened, a dangerous glint in them.

I cleared my throat. "Not that I'm complaining. I mean, it's… sweet. In a terrifying way. But sweet."

She shook her head and turned away, pacing a few steps toward the couch before spinning back around. "Do you know what it feels like to try and reach you, over and over again, and get nothing? Not even a text?"

Guilt pressed into me then, heavier than I wanted to admit. Because yeah, I did know. I'd been on the other side of that feeling before, waiting for her to reply when she was too wrapped up in meetings with her dad. She'd started having more of those lately. He said it was his way of preparing her and Lucien for when they'd eventually take over the company—or something like that.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and stepped closer. "I'm sorry. Really. I wasn't ignoring you, Val. I just—Trent and I… we got talking. I didn't notice the time."

Her arms stayed folded, her lips pressed into a stubborn line.

For a moment, I thought she'd stay locked in her anger forever. But then she let out a slow breath, eyes flicking toward me, softer now.

"You could've at least texted," she muttered, almost like it hurt her to admit it.

"Yeah," I said quickly. "You're right. I should've."

Another beat of silence stretched between us. Her foot stopped tapping. Duchess appeared from the hallway, tail high, letting out a single annoyed meow like she was adding her own commentary to the scene.

Val bent to scoop the cat into her arms, stroking her fur absentmindedly as if grounding herself. "I thought something happened," she whispered, almost too quiet.

And just like that, the humor I'd been suppressing was gone. Replaced by the weight in her voice, the hint of vulnerability she rarely let slip.

I moved closer, careful, my hands sliding into my pockets. "Nothing happened. I promise. Just me being an idiot who doesn't check his phone."

She tilted her head, still frowning, but the edge in her eyes had dulled. Duchess purred in her arms, smug as ever, like she was enjoying the drama.

I reached out and brushed a strand of Val's hair back behind her ear. "You really thought I'd disappear on you?"

Her lips parted, but she didn't answer. Not right away.

Instead, she just stared at me, her glare shifting into something else—something quieter, more uncertain.

And right there, in that moment, it hit me—this whole time I'd been terrified of losing her when she left for her master's, but looking in her eyes, I realized… she was just as scared of losing me.

---

She didn't resist when I pulled her into me. Her arms stayed folded for a heartbeat longer, but then they loosened, slipping around my back. Her forehead pressed against my chest, and just like that, the edge in her glare melted.

And with her in my arms, it almost felt like everything was fine again.

Later, the smell of garlic and onions filled the apartment, the kind of scent that clung to the walls and made the place feel like home. She moved around my tiny kitchen like she owned it—like she always had. Duchess hovered around her ankles, tail flicking, begging for scraps she knew she'd get if she waited long enough.

By the time we sat down to eat, the earlier storm seemed to have passed. I watched her twirl pasta around her fork, perfectly at ease, like yelling at me thirty minutes ago hadn't been a thing. That was Val. Fire one second, calm seas the next.

I cleared my throat. "So… how did it go with your dad?"

She shrugged lightly, stabbing a piece of chicken. "Fine."

That was it. No explanation, no details, just that clipped word. Fine.

I nodded slowly, pretending that was enough, though it sat in my chest like a weight.

A few quiet minutes passed, the sound of cutlery against plates filling the room, until she set her fork down, tapping it softly against the porcelain. "What were you and Trent talking about?"

The question came out casual, but her eyes sharpened on me.

I looked up for half a second, then dropped my gaze back to my food. I shrugged. "You know… guy stuff."

She narrowed her eyes immediately. "Uh-huh."

I kept my head down, focusing way too hard on cutting a bite that didn't need cutting.

"You're avoiding my eyes," she accused.

"I'm not," I said, a little too quick.

> "Yes, you are. You're not even looking at me right now."

"That's because I'm eating," I muttered, still pushing pasta around like it might save me.

"Kaiii," she dragged my name out in that whiny, playful tone only she could make sound both annoying and endearing.

I gave in and looked up. She was pouting—lips pushed out, brows drawn just enough to be ridiculous. And damn it, I laughed.

Her pout cracked instantly into a small smile, then into a giggle, soft and unguarded.

I shook my head, still chuckling, and went back to my plate.

But she wasn't done. "Seriously though," she said lightly, spinning her fork again, "if I find out you two are talking about other girls, I'll kill you... Then myself."

It was so casual, so smooth, that it hit me like a delayed punch. My fork froze halfway to my mouth.

Across the table, she smirked—slow, sly, like she knew exactly what she'd just done to me. Then she bent her head, digging back into her food as if she hadn't just threatened my existence in the sweetest tone possible.

I let out a shaky breath, shook my head, and smiled despite myself.

We finished dinner like that—her pretending to be normal, me pretending not to be rattled.

And as I chewed the last bite, one thought kept circling in my head: maybe there really was nothing to be afraid of.

Right?

---

To be continued...

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