The dishes were still drying in the rack when I padded into the bedroom. Val was already stretched out on the bed, hair spilling loose across the pillows, her phone glowing faintly in her hands. Duchess had claimed her usual spot curled at the foot of the mattress, tail flicking lazily.

Fresh from the shower, I slid down beside Val, sinking into the mattress like my body had been waiting for this all day. For her.

"So," I said after a moment, turning my head toward her. "Were you able to finish whatever you were doing today?"

Her thumbs paused mid-scroll. Slowly, she looked at me, brow creasing. "Uh?"

"At your dad's office," I clarified, my voice even.

That made her squint, just a fraction, like she was calculating whether she'd missed a step in some game I didn't know I was playing.

I shrugged, casual. "I saw. During the video call."

For a beat she just stared at me, then her lips curved into a sly smile. "Oh. For a second I thought you were about to say something dramatic. Like you had me tailed. Or maybe you're secretly a magician. Predicting where I've been."

I smirked. "I'm not you, Val."

Her mouth fell open in an exaggerated gasp. "Wow. Did you just imply that my excessive, passionate, all-consuming love is—what? Surveillance?"

"Your words," I said, chuckling.

She rolled her eyes but there was no heat in it. With a soft sigh, she dropped her phone onto the nightstand and shifted, turning fully to face me. Her smile was waiting there, warm and steady. "So. Work. You only said 'fine' earlier and I didn't push, because obviously food came first. But now I want details."

I groaned lightly, burying my face into the pillow. "Fine is a perfectly acceptable answer, you know."

> "Not for me."

When I glanced back at her, she was staring me down with that look—the one that said I wasn't escaping until she got what she wanted. And truth be told, I didn't really want to escape.

"Actually…" I said after a pause, "it was pretty okay. I'm working under a Mr. Clarkson. Head of the Finance Department. He's… decent. Knows his stuff, expects everyone else to keep up."

Val nodded, eyes sharp, as if she was filing it away for future use. She always listened like everything I said mattered, even the little things. Especially the little things.

"And," I went on, "I've been put on a team. There are three others. Derrick, Priya, and Tasha."

The moment Priya slipped out, I caught it—a tiny shift in her expression. Not much, just the slightest flicker in her eyes, the kind that told me she was paying sharper attention now. By the time I added Tasha, the signal was already there. Subtle, but not to me. I knew the signs. A warning I should've heeded, handled with more care than I did.

Instead, like the idiot I sometimes am, I barreled right ahead. "Derrick's hilarious. Loud, easygoing, makes things feel less stiff. The guy could probably make a funeral director laugh. Then there's Priya—she's strict. Cold, even. But Derrick says once I get to know her, I'll get how she works."

I trailed off with a shrug, smiling faintly. "So yeah. That's the team."

Val hummed, slow and deliberate, like she was weighing something in her head. Her gaze stayed fixed on me, steady and unblinking. "What about Tasha?"

My smile faltered. "Tasha's…" I hesitated. "Well, she's just Tasha."

Her gaze narrowed, sharp as glass. She didn't blink.

"I told her I'm married," I added quickly.

Instantly, her expression shifted. Her eyes softened, mouth curving into something satisfied. "Good."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, shaking my head. "You're actually scary sometimes."

Her brows lifted, a dangerous kind of amusement sparking in her expression. "Scary? No. Just… thorough. I know what's mine, Kai. And I don't share."

I chuckled, rubbing a hand over my face. "Right. Thorough."

Silence stretched between us, comfortable. My chest loosened.

A yawn caught me off guard, pulling at the edges of my jaw. Val noticed instantly, her lips curving into something softer. She scooted closer until the warmth of her body pressed against mine. Her voice dropped, quiet enough to feel more than hear. "You should sleep. You've got another long day tomorrow."

"Yeah," I murmured, eyes already heavy.

I leaned in, kissed her once, slow and light. "Night night, babe. Sweet dreams."

Her smile lingered against my lips. "Night, husband."

The word settled into me like a prayer.

I let my eyes drift closed, her presence beside me pulling me under faster than any blanket could. The world slipped away, the weight of work and time and everything else dissolving until there was only her.

But what I didn't see—what sleep stole from me—was the way Val's eyes opened again minutes later. The glow of the lamp caught the quiet intensity in them as she lay still, watching me.

She didn't move. She didn't speak. Just stared, as if memorizing every detail she could hold onto.

And if her silence carried the same ache that had been pressing into me all week, I never knew it.

---

The first thing I noticed when I woke wasn't the sunlight spilling faint and golden across the curtains, or even the soft weight of Duchess curled at the foot of the bed.

It was the absence.

I blinked against the quiet, stretching one arm across the mattress out of habit. The sheets were cool where she should've been. A yawn tugged out of me, and I sat up slowly, rubbing the back of my neck. Duchess barely stirred, just sighed like even the sound of me moving was too much effort at this hour.

"Lucky cat," I muttered, scratching her head before dragging myself upright.

The apartment was quiet, but not the kind of quiet that meant empty. No, there was something different—something that tugged me forward before I could even decide where my feet were going.

And then I smelled it.

Warm, savory, mouthwatering. The kind of smell that clung to you before you even stepped into the kitchen.

I followed it, padding barefoot across the hall. Sure enough, there she was—hair tied back loosely, sleeves rolled up, standing over the stove like she'd been born to own it. A pan hissed softly, and she moved with practiced ease, flipping something golden before reaching for another plate.

Val didn't turn until I was halfway into the kitchen, but I knew she'd heard me.

"Morning, husband," she said, her voice soft, carrying that smile I could never get tired of.

I leaned against the doorframe, trying not to grin too obviously. "Morning."

She lifted a spatula in my direction, pointing it like it was an order. "Go take your bath and dress up. Breakfast is almost ready."

I chuckled, shaking my head. Even here, even like this, she managed to outmaneuver me.

For a moment, I just stayed there, leaning, watching her. The little motions—how she flipped, plated, tasted, adjusted—looked so natural it almost didn't seem real. Like this was what she was meant for: not just brilliance, not just boardrooms or futures I still couldn't wrap my head around. But this. Us.

"Go," she said again, sharper this time, though her smile betrayed her.

I lifted my hands in surrender. "Yeah. On it."

By the time I sat down at the table, the kitchen looked like a breakfast spread straight out of a magazine. Eggs, toast, something rich and fragrant I couldn't name but smelled incredible. And Val, finally seated across from me, her face still marked with the soft traces of sleep.

She propped her chin on one hand, blinking slowly like she was trying not to yawn.

I picked up my fork, but my eyes kept drifting. Stealing glances, the way you do when the person in front of you feels too good to be true.

It wasn't until she finally yawned—small, unguarded—that I spoke.

"You didn't have to do this."

She waved me off without hesitation. "You didn't eat yesterday morning because you thought you'd be late. I wasn't about to let you leave hungry again."

My fork hovered halfway. The words hit harder than I expected, simple as they were. She'd woken early—earlier than anyone should have to on a day off—just to make sure I didn't skip breakfast.

I set the fork down for a second, studying her. "Still. You even look like you'd rather be in bed right now."

Her eyes flicked up, catching mine, sharp and certain. And then—just like that—her lips curved into a smirk. "I'll go back to bed once you leave."

I exhaled, half a smile, half something else. The guilt eased, though not completely.

I opened my mouth, ready to argue again, but she cut me off before the words formed.

"Eat," she ordered lightly. "You'll be late."

I hesitated. She didn't move, just looked at me—eyes heavy with sleep, but still playful, still shining in that way that said she knew exactly how much power she had in moments like this.

The silent nudge was enough. I smiled faintly, gave a small nod, and dug in.

Fifteen minutes later, I was lacing my shoes at the door. She leaned against the frame, arms folded, still in her sleep shirt—my shirt, looking like she belonged there more than anything else in the world.

"Text me once you get to the office," she said, as casual as asking me to pick up milk on the way home.

I straightened, slipping my briefcase off the chair and into my hand. "Yes, ma'am."

She arched one brow, clearly satisfied with the response.

And then, like it was nothing, like it hadn't already branded itself into me, she leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to my cheek, and smiled.

I stepped out, the morning air sharp, the city already awake. Sliding behind the wheel, I paused before turning the key, just sitting there with my thoughts.

And all I could think about was the image I'd just left behind: her at the stove, her sleepy smile across the table, her voice telling me to eat before I ran out the door.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, a smile tugging at me despite the ache buried underneath.

This—this quiet, ordinary morning—was everything I wanted. Everything I'd ever prayed for in a partner.

To me, it was love, plain and certain. But what I didn't see—not yet—was the shadow tugging at her too. The guilt she hid behind soft smiles and playful warnings. If it weren't this important, she wouldn't even think of leaving. She wouldn't dare.

I only knew what it felt like on my side, the ache of two weeks slipping through my fingers. What I didn't know was that, in her own way, she was counting down too.

---

To be continued...

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