Two days before Christmas, I was on my couch, phone in hand, mindlessly scrolling through a list of newly released anime. It was one of those lazy afternoons where I'd promised myself I'd be productive, but somehow ended up reading episode summaries instead of actually watching anything.

Then my phone chimed.

A message from Trent.

Hey bud. Marina said your girl asked for some videos. Don't ask, I have no idea what that means. But here's the videos.

I frowned, opening the thread.

Below the message were a few short clips — Mount Keira, of course.

Val must've talked to Marina again. Probably asked about the hike or the scenery or something equally "fun" that usually ended with me exhausted and her glowing like it was the best day of her life.

I tapped the first video.

Trent's voice came through, out of breath but still laughing. The camera shook as it focused on Marina sitting halfway up a rocky trail, dramatically throwing her hands up in defeat.

"I swear," she was saying, "humans were never meant to climb mountains! This is proof! Literal proof!"

Trent, being Trent, didn't help her up. He zoomed in on her mud-streaked sneakers and started laughing.

I shook my head, smiling despite myself. "Unbelievable…"

> "Hey, husband."

Val's voice cut through my thoughts.

I didn't even hear her come in. When I turned, she was leaning on the back of the couch, chin resting on her folded arms, looking at the screen like she'd been watching the videos with me the whole time.

"See?" she said, tilting her head toward my phone. "Now that's what fun looks like."

I raised a brow. "Fun is falling halfway down a mountain?"

She grinned. "It's the experience that counts."

"Right. The experience of breaking your ankle."

Her grin widened. "You're just scared I'd beat you to the top."

"Pretty sure you'd give up before we even started," I shot back, scrolling to the next video.

She walked around the couch and sat beside me, close enough that her shoulder brushed mine. But this time, she didn't respond with her usual teasing comeback. She was quiet.

When I glanced over, her fingers were intertwined in her lap, and she was biting her lower lip, a sign that something was on her mind.

"What's wrong?" I asked finally, lowering my phone.

Her gaze flicked up, hesitant. "My… parents are having another party tomorrow night."

"Oh." I nodded slowly. "Right. That."

The Moreau family's annual Before Christmas Gala — the event that could easily be mistaken for a royal summit.

They called it a "family tradition." I called it an excuse to flaunt their wealth and network with whoever happened to have a higher net worth that year. Or maybe it was both. Probably both.

"Wait," I said after a beat, "tomorrow night's Christmas Eve."

She nodded.

"But they've never hosted it on Christmas Eve before."

Another nod. "My dad said he wanted it to be… memorable this year."

"Figures," I muttered.

For a moment, silence hung between us. Then I caught her still staring, not blinking, just watching me with that unreadable expression she gets when she's trying to gauge my reaction.

I pointed at her. "No. No, no, no. I'm not—"

"Please," she said softly.

"Your parents hate me."

> "They don't."

I gave her a look.

She sighed. "They just… don't fully understand you."

"That's the same thing."

> "It's not."

"Val," I said, rubbing my temple. "You've never invited me to one of those things before."

Her eyes dropped to her hands. "I've always wanted to," she admitted. "But I knew you'd say no."

"Exactly," I said. "So why now?"

She hesitated, just for a heartbeat, and then looked at me with that quiet kind of vulnerability that never failed to disarm me.

"Because someday, we're going to have to do this," she said. "All of it. The parties, the expectations, the people who'll never understand us. You're already a part of my life, Kai. I just... want you to be part of all of it. Fully. Completely. Every single part that comes with me."

It hit harder than I expected.

All the quick, clever excuses I'd been ready to throw out suddenly felt small. Weak.

I exhaled. "I don't like this. Not one bit."

"I know," she said softly.

I stared at her, at those eyes that somehow looked both determined and uncertain at the same time, and I already knew I was losing.

"If I end up hating it," I said finally, "I'm never going to another one."

Her face lit up instantly, bright and relieved, and before I could blink, she leaned forward and hugged me.

"You won't hate it," she murmured against my neck, the smile clear in her voice.

"That's what you said about karaoke night," I said dryly.

"And you had fun," she reminded me.

"I almost died."

"Details," she said, pulling back with a grin. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she reached for her laptop on the coffee table.

"Let me just check something real quick," she said, flipping it open. "I still need to finalize the seating chart for tomorrow. My mom's being—" she made a vague frustrated sound "—herself."

I leaned back, watching her fingers fly across the keyboard like she was negotiating a peace treaty instead of organizing a party.

"Do I even want to know what a Moreau seating chart looks like?" I asked.

"It's complicated," she said without looking up. "You have to balance the investors with the politicians and the CEOs so no one feels snubbed."

"Sounds like a minefield."

> "It is."

"And I'm walking into it."

She paused, smiled faintly, and said, "I'll be there."

"Yeah," I said, running a hand through my hair, "that's what worries me."

She laughed — quiet, soft, the kind that somehow made my chest unclench — and went back to her laptop.

I sank deeper into the couch, staring at the faint reflection of the Christmas tree lights on the TV screen.

Part of me still thought this was a terrible idea. The Moreaus and I had a long, complicated history, one that involved polite smiles, a tense dinner, and an unspoken agreement that I was never going to be good enough for their daughter.

But then again… she was my Val.

And when she looked at me like she did tonight, with that mix of hope and determination, it was impossible to say no.

Maybe it wasn't about the party at all. Maybe it was about her trying to pull two worlds together, even if they didn't fit.

And maybe, just maybe, I owed it to her to try.

She glanced up suddenly, meeting my eyes. "What?"

"Nothing," I said. "Just thinking this is going to be a disaster."

She smiled — that confident, knowing smile. "You'll survive."

"Can't promise that."

> "You will."

"Optimistic as always."

> "Always."

She turned back to her screen, humming a tune I didn't recognize.

And as the faint sound of typing filled the room, I leaned back and sighed — because if there was one thing I was sure of, is that tomorrow night was going to test every ounce of patience I had, but if it was for her, I'd survive it.

Probably.

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To be continued...

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