I don’t know what got into .
Maybe it was the way she cried last night, or the way she tried to hide it like I couldn’t see right through her. Maybe it was the part where I held her and swore—without actually saying it—that I’d do anything to keep her smiling.
Whatever it was, it made do sothing I’d usually call insane.
I got up first.
Not because my alarm went off earlier than hers (she’s usually the one dragging out of bed), but because I actually wanted to. I slid out from under the covers as carefully as possible, making sure not to wake her, and padded into the kitchen. My master plan for the day was simple: do everything I could to keep her happy.
Step one: breakfast. Sothing easy. Sothing even I couldn’t screw up.
So, tea. Toast. That was it. Nothing fancy, nothing with asurents that could turn into disasters. Just plain, safe, foolproof breakfast.
I grabbed the bread, butter, and her favorite strawberry jam, lining them up on the counter like I was about to conduct surgery. Tea bags out, water set to boil. Easy. Step two would be serving her while she was still curled up in bed—bonus points if she was still half asleep. Step three... I hadn’t figured out yet. Maybe step three was just keep her smiling, whatever it takes.
> "Uh... husband?"
Her voice cut through the quiet, lazy and amused all at once.
I froze, bread halfway to the toaster. Slowly, I turned.
There she was, leaning against the doorway, arms folded, hair still ssy from sleep but sohow looking like she stepped out of a dream. A soft smile tugged at her lips, and her eyes—sharp and knowing—locked right onto .
"You’re up," I said dumbly, like that wasn’t obvious.
She tilted her head, the picture of mock innocence. "Mhm. I woke up and my bed was empty. So, imagine my surprise when I found my husband sneaking around the kitchen at..." she glanced at the clock behind , "seven-thirty in the morning. What exactly are you doing?"
I cleared my throat, trying to look casual even though my plan had just been caught red-handed. "Prepping breakfast."
"Prepping," she repeated slowly, eyes narrowing in a way that made it sound like a trap. "As in... you? Cooking?"
"Yes." I lifted the bread like it was evidence. "Toast. Tea. Very safe. Nothing that can explode."
She blinked once. Then her lips curled into a grin. "You really are trying to play the good husband role, huh?"
"Trying?" I asked. "I am doing it."
She arched a brow, pushing off the doorfra with that graceful, unhurried walk that made my stomach knot every single ti. "You’re lucky you’re pretty, Kai. Because if this is about impressing with your cooking, I’ll have to save you from yourself."
I watched as she brushed past and plucked the bread right out of my hand. "Val, I had it under control—"
"You had nothing under control." She smirked, already sliding the bread into the toaster like it had been her plan all along. "I’ll handle breakfast."
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "You don’t trust with a toaster?"
"Not with a toaster. Not with a frying pan. Definitely not with a stove." She shot a playful look over her shoulder. "Face it, Kai. Cooking is my domain."
"Pretty sure you’re just power tripping right now."
> "Call it whatever you want, husband."
She wasn’t wrong, though. My cooking track record was... not good. But watching her hum softly while moving around the kitchen made forget all about my ruined plan. She made it look effortless—putting on water for tea, slicing fruit, toasting bread, arranging everything neatly like even the simplest breakfast had to be worthy of a picture.
When she finally set two plates down at the table, I couldn’t help but smile. Toast, tea, strawberries, and a little bit of honey on the side. Light, simple, perfect.
She sat across from , propping her chin on her hand. "So? Not bad for a wife who woke up late."
"Late?" I scoffed. "You still found ti to show off your legendary cooking skills."
> "Because I’m better."
I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitched. "Fine. You win."
Her grin widened, triumphant. She pushed her plate closer to . "Good husband move, though. I’ll give you points for effort."
We ate together, though "ate" was a stretch on her end. I cleaned my plate, while she mostly pushed hers around, nibbling here and there. Normally I’d tease her for wasting food, but not this ti. I could tell it wasn’t about the breakfast. She was probably still thinking about Lucien.
---
After breakfast, we got ready for school. Or rather, she got ready while I sat there pretending not to stare.
The transformation was unfair.
ssy hair and oversized T-shirt Val was already dangerous enough, but the second she pulled on her school jacket, brushed out her hair, and glossed her lips, I was gone. She caught staring in the mirror, of course, because she always caught staring.
Her eyes t mine through the reflection, and a slow, wicked grin curved her mouth. "Like what you see, husband?"
I swallowed, caught. "You know that’s not a fair question."
She turned, tugging at her skirt so it sat just right. "It’s a yes or no, Kai."
"Yes," I admitted instantly.
Her grin grew, smug and bright, and she leaned over just enough to press a kiss against my cheek. "Good. Because I dress up for . But if it drives you crazy, that’s just a bonus."
I groaned under my breath. "Unbelievable."
She laughed, grabbing her bag like nothing happened, while I sat there, hopelessly flustered.
And maybe my plan had been ruined the mont she caught in the kitchen. But looking at her—happy, teasing, beautiful—I figured as long as she was smiling, maybe it didn’t matter how badly I failed at breakfast.
---
Or so I thought.
Because even after we left the house, even after she was laughing and teasing like always, I couldn’t shake it. The picture of her crying—quiet, not dramatic, but real—stayed lodged in my chest. She cried because of Lucien, but what stung more was how much she hated that I saw her break.
So I kept trying. Trying to make her happy, even when she was clearly fine.
In class, she had her head bent over her notes, doodling little stars in the corner of the page instead of paying attention. I slid my pen across the desk, close enough for her to notice, and when she looked up, I spun it between my fingers before slipping it right behind her ear like so kind of cheap magician.
She blinked. Then laughed softly. "Wow. Husband of the year material right there."
"Careful," I murmured, leaning closer. "This is advanced skill."
She smirked. "It’s a pen, Kai."
"Yeah, but it’s your pen now. See? Free gift."
Her lips twitched like she wanted to laugh harder but was holding back for the sake of the professor. She shook her head and went back to her notes, but I caught the small smile playing at her mouth.
Worth it.
---
At lunch, sa thing. She had her tray, perfectly balanced like always, and I reached out before she even sat down, sliding her drink closer, adjusting her fork like she couldn’t do it herself.
She raised an eyebrow. "Since when did you turn into my butler?"
"Not a butler. Just making sure my girlfriend’s taken care of."
"Mhm. Whatever helps you sleep at night." She leaned in, whispering just loud enough for to hear. "Though if you keep this up, people are going to think I actually trained you."
"Or they’ll think I’m a decent guy," I shot back.
> "Now that would be a plot twist."
Her laugh was light, careless, and it hit right in the chest again.
---
Later, when we were just walking between classes, her arm looped casually through mine, I said it without even realizing it.
"Babe, slow down. You’re dragging ."
She stopped dead in her tracks.
I frowned. "What?"
She turned to , eyes wide, like I’d just grown two heads. "Babe?"
I blinked, then nodded, playing it off. "Yeah. Babe. That’s what you are. My girlfriend. Babe."
Her mouth dropped open slightly, caught between shock and amusent. "You’ve never called babe."
"There’s a first ti for everything."
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, lips quirking. "Yeah, except when it’s you. Took weeks to get you to call Val. And that’s literally the short form of my own na."
I tried to keep my face neutral, but she was already studying , her gaze sharp in a way that told she wasn’t letting this go.
"Okay," she said slowly. "What’s really going on?"
"Nothing." I shrugged. "I have no idea what you an."
Her eyes narrowed further, the kind of look that made feel like I was being x-rayed. "You’re acting weird. Extra weird. Like you’re trying to win a dal for Boyfriend of the Year."
"Maybe I am."
She tilted her head, still watching like she was solving a puzzle. "Nope. Not buying it. You don’t suddenly start calling ’babe’ and moving my forks at lunch because you woke up feeling romantic."
I chuckled under my breath, but I didn’t say anything.
And that silence? Yeah, she caught it instantly.
Her smirk softened into sothing closer to a knowing smile, and she bumped her shoulder against mine as we started walking again. She suddenly gasped, all dramatic. "Wait. Oh my God. This is because of—? You’re totally overcompensating."
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. "That’s... not what’s happening."
She laughed lightly, no real bite behind it. "Sure, husband. Sure."
I glanced at her, but she was already looking ahead, still smiling like she’d figured out my entire playbook.
And maybe she had.
But I didn’t care. If calling her babe, moving forks and pens and trying too hard was what it took to make her smile like that... then maybe I didn’t mind being obvious.
---
To be continued...
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