Saturday.

Finally.

For the first time all week, I slept without an alarm drilling into the side of my skull. No meetings. No spreadsheets. No pressure hovering over my shoulders like a badly balanced crane.

Just silence. Warm sheets. Peace.

At least, until—

> "Kai. Kai, wake up."

A soft poke jabbed my cheek. Then another. Then fingers tapping in a pattern that felt suspiciously intentional.

I groaned and buried my face deeper into the pillow.

"No," I muttered. "Not happening. I'm dead. Leave a message after the tone."

"Kai." Her voice lost its sweetness and gained authority—Celestia-authority, which was somehow more dangerous than CEO-authority. "It's nine-thirty."

"Exactly," I mumbled. "Still morning. Still sleep hours."

I felt it then, her knee shifting the mattress, her presence leaning closer, a puff of warm breath against my ear.

"Last warning," she whispered dramatically, "wake up or I'll… I'll flip you."

I snorted. "You weigh like a feather. Good luck."

She didn't respond with words.

She responded by yanking the blanket off me in one violent swoop.

Cold air slapped me straight out of heaven.

"VAL—!"

But she was already on her feet, arms crossed triumphantly, wearing an oversized shirt that was definitely mine and a mischievous grin that should be illegal before noon.

"Good morning, husband," she said sweetly.

I sat up with a glare I didn't actually feel.

"You're heartless."

She shrugged. "You love me."

"Against my will," I said, rubbing my eyes.

She giggled, climbed onto the bed again, and shoved at my shoulder.

> "Up. Shower. Now."

"I can shower later—"

> "Nope. We're bathing together."

I blinked. "That's a threat or a promise?"

"Both," she said, grabbing my wrist.

I didn't resist. I never really did with her.

Val tugged me toward the bathroom with the dramatic confidence of someone marching a prisoner to his execution.

Inside, she turned on the water and tested the temperature like it was a science experiment.

"You're way too energetic for a Saturday," I said, pulling off my shirt.

She smirked. "That's because you were dead for two hours longer than planned."

"Excuse me for resting after a hellish week."

She stepped into the shower first, letting the steam wrap around her. "Exactly why you need this."

I followed her in.

Warm water cascaded down, mixing with her soft hums as she washed the sleep off both of us. She traced idle circles on my chest, leaning into me with that quiet intimacy only she had access to.

"If you think this makes me forgive you for waking me up like a demon—" I began.

She looked up, eyes gleaming. "You already forgave me."

…Yeah. She wasn't wrong.

We stayed like that longer than necessary—laughing, teasing, kissing, waking up in the best possible way.

It was the kind of morning I could live in forever.

By the time breakfast was done, the clock on the oven hit 11:12 AM.

Two weeks left until the final presentation for the Meridian Development Initiative.

Two weeks until every late night, every spreadsheet, every calculation decided the future of everything we'd been building.

The pressure should've been crushing.

But with Val curled against me on the couch, her legs thrown over my lap and her head tucked against my shoulder as we watched a mindless cooking show…

It felt like breathing was easy.

She made everything feel lighter.

And I knew I did the same for her—she didn't say it often, but the way her hand kept tracing lazy shapes on my arm gave her away.

The world was allowed to wait.

Then my phone buzzed on the coffee table.

Val lifted her head. "Who is it?"

I reached over and checked the screen.

"Trent."

Her eyebrows pinched. "On a Saturday?"

I answered.

"Hey bud," Trent said, sounding unusually tight. "You free to come over, or are you two… busy?"

"In the middle of… high-level executive rest," I said dryly. "Don't tell me you made another—"

"Don't even say it," he cut in. "I did not make another… uh… what's the word you used last time? Catastrophic, fiscally illiterate blunder?"

I smirked. "If the briefcase fits."

> "No. It's something else. And I'd rather talk in person. If you can swing by later today… that'd be great."

His tone wasn't light.

It carried weight — heavy, deliberate, the kind of tone Trent only used when something serious was sitting on his chest.

"Yeah," I said, already sitting straighter. "I'll come over in a bit."

"Alright bud. I'll be waiting."

The call ended.

She crossed her arms and pouted—dramatically, beautifully.

"Ugh. Trent's trying to steal my husband from me on a weekend."

I laughed. "I swear he's not seducing me."

"He better not," she muttered, poking my chest. "I planned a full lazy day with you."

"I'll be back before dinner."

She didn't stop pouting.

"You're ridiculous," I said, flicking her forehead gently.

She gasped, offended. "That hurt."

"No, it didn't."

> "It emotionally hurt."

I watched her theatrics with a smile.

This… this was why nothing ever felt heavy with her.

She sighed dramatically, then grabbed my hand and stood.

"Fine. If you're going over there, we're picking out what you're wearing so you don't embarrass me."

"I wasn't aware visiting my friend required formal approval."

"It does," she said, tugging me toward the stairs. "Everything you wear reflects on me."

"That's concerning."

"Shh," she commanded. "Wardrobe time."

And with that, Mrs. Tanaka dragged me upstairs to oversee my outfit like I was a mannequin she owned.

I let her, of course.

Some battles you don't fight.

And if it made her smile like that… then

yeah, I'd let her choose my whole closet.

---

By the time I reached the car, the sun had already dipped low, leaving that soft orange smear that made the city look calmer than it really was. I unlocked the door, slid in, and was just about to start the engine when my phone buzzed again.

Trent.

I answered.

"Hey, bud," he said, voice low, controlled. "Small update. Let's switch the venue. The house is… not convenient right now."

I raised a brow. "Okay. Where?"

] "The usual bar. You know the one. I'll meet you there."

"Got it."

He hung up before I could ask anything else.

Not his usual mood at all.

The drive wasn't long, but the air around me had shifted; the moment Trent changed the venue, the easy-going weekend atmosphere I'd been wrapped in evaporated. I didn't like the way it felt. It wasn't panic… it was more the tightening of something in the gut—like whatever he wanted to talk about wasn't something he wanted echoing in a quiet house.

When I reached the bar, the place was already humming—low music, scattered laughter, clinking glasses. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except Trent was standing just outside by the entrance, hands in his pockets, staring at the ground like he'd been pacing.

He looked up the moment he saw me.

"Bud," he said with a short nod.

We clasped hands—firm, familiar, the kind of greeting that said we've been through too many stupid things together to bother with anything else—and gave each other a quick pat on the back.

Up close, his expression didn't match the energy of the bar behind him. No grin. No teasing. No half-smirk prepping a joke he'd deliver horribly.

Just seriousness. Pure, unfiltered seriousness.

That alone made the back of my neck tighten.

We headed inside and took a booth near the window. Drinks were brought over—his was already on the table, mine arrived seconds later—and we sat facing each other.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

I finally leaned back and smirked. "So," I said lightly, "what did you do this time?"

His eyes didn't even twitch.

] "It's not about me."

That erased the smirk from my face immediately.

"Then what is it about?" I asked.

Trent exhaled, slow, steady. "It's about your brother-in-law."

My brows lifted. "Lucien?"

He stared dead at me. "You've got another?"

I straightened in my seat. "What happened?"

He took a sip of his drink—not for flavor, but like he was grounding himself. "A few days ago… I was on my way to meet a client. Big deal. My team was with me. We were heading into the lobby of the Phoenix Building. That's when I saw him."

"Lucien?"

"Yeah," Trent replied. "And he wasn't alone."

Something cold slid down my spine. "Okay. With who?"

] "Benjamin Otavio."

I blinked. "Benjamin who?"

"Otavio," he repeated, tone flat. "The CEO of Vanguard Ark Investments."

I let that sit for a few seconds. "Alright," I said slowly. "And…?"

Trent set his glass down, clasping his hands together. The seriousness in his posture sharpened. "Vanguard Ark Investments is in the investment game too."

"Like Cole Capital Group?"

He nodded. "Exactly like that. On the surface, they look solid. Their reports are clean. Their public image is polished. Their deals check out—at least the ones anyone can see."

"And the ones people can't see?" I asked quietly.

Trent's expression hardened. "That's where things go sideways. They're known for cutting corners, structuring deals that look legitimate but put clients in tight corners, and partnering with people who operate in… let's just say, gray zones. They're legal—barely. But the weight of the contracts they make people sign? Those don't come cheap, bud."

A pulse jumped at the side of my jaw.

"And you're telling me Lucien was talking to their CEO? Personally?"

"Not talking," Trent corrected. "They were shaking hands. Like they'd just finished something. Or agreed on something."

The cold feeling sharpened.

He didn't know Lucien had already signed anything. Neither did I.

"And you're sure?" I pressed.

Trent shot me a look. "You think I'd confuse a CEO with a random guy in a suit? Bud, I know the industry. I know the faces. And Otavio doesn't show up to meetings unless it's something he wants control over."

My fingers curled around my glass, but I didn't drink.

For a few seconds, we just sat there—two grown men, in a bar they'd laughed in countless times, suddenly wrapped in something too quiet.

Trent leaned forward. "Look. I don't know what Lucien is involved in. I don't know if he's aware of who he's dealing with. But I do know this—Vanguard Ark never gives without taking twice as much. If he's in talks with Otavio… he needs to be warned. Now, not later."

I nodded slowly. "I hear you."

"Good," he said. "Because you need to tell Celestia. She'll have to talk to him."

My chest tightened a little at that. Val would worry. She'd blame herself for not seeing signs earlier. The thought alone made something twist inside me.

"Alright," I said quietly. "I'll tell her."

Trent sat back, tension easing only slightly. "Good. I just didn't want to keep quiet. If anything happens… at least you both won't be blindsided."

"Thank you," I said. "Really."

He waved it off. "Anytime, bud."

I pushed my glass away and stood. "Anything more I should know?"

He raised a brow. "Why? You've got somewhere to be?"

I gave him a look. "Yep. With my wife."

That finally drew the faintest smirk from him. "Of course."

We stepped outside together, the cool air brushing past as the door swung shut behind us.

"Thanks again," I said as I reached my car.

"Always," Trent replied, heading toward his own.

We both got in, engines humming to life at nearly the same time. He pulled out first, turning left. I went right.

As the city lights streaked past the windshield, my thoughts spiraled—not in panic, but in controlled calculation, trying to piece together the shape of a problem we hadn't even seen yet.

Val needed to know.

She needed to know today.

And hopefully… just hopefully…

We weren't already too late.

Because whatever deal Lucien shook hands on with Benjamin Otavio—

whatever he thought he could handle—

…he was already in deeper than he realized.

And neither Val nor I had any idea he'd already signed.

---

To be continued...

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