By the time evening settled in, the apartment felt warm and lived-in.
Rachel was on the living room floor surrounded by crayons and stickers, humming to herself while drawing something that looked like a cat—though it had wings, ten whiskers, and a crown. Bella sat on the sofa nearby, reading through notes from her interview and occasionally glancing up with a soft smile to check on her daughter.
Lucas stepped out of his room freshly changed—simple black joggers and a fitted T-shirt. Comfortable. Domestic. Almost ordinary. He dropped his watch onto the table and stretched slightly, rolling his shoulders as if he'd carried weight all day.
His eyes, however, softened the moment he saw Rachel.
She looked up immediately.
"Dada! Come see my dragon-kitty!"
Lucas's lips curved—not a grin, just that subtle softness he seemed to reserve only for her and Bella.
"I'm terrified already," he said, stepping closer.
Rachel giggled and lifted the page toward him proudly.
Bella watched the exchange—her smile small but sincere. Something warm flickered in Lucas's chest. He didn't comment on it.
Just as he crouched beside Rachel, his phone buzzed—short and sharp.
Lucas's expression changed. Slight. Controlled. Most people wouldn't notice. Bella did. He straightened slowly.
"You can show me in a minute, sweetheart," he said gently, brushing a hand over Rachel's head.
She nodded, already distracted by sparkly stickers.
Lucas walked toward the balcony, answering the call only once the glass door slid shut behind him. His voice lowered—colder, disciplined.
"Mark."
Mark didn't waste time.
"We found him."
Lucas stilled, jaw tightening.
"And?"
"He confessed. There's no doubt he was the one who helped the Russians connect the chains. He admitted to leaking movement schedules and security patterns."
Lucas exhaled—not relief. Something darker. Something final.
"And the punishment?"
"It's been handled," Mark replied. Calm. Respectful. "He won't be a problem again."
Silence stretched—controlled, but heavy.
Lucas nodded once. "Good."
Mark continued, tone shifting slightly.
"There's something else."
Lucas already knew he wouldn't like it. "Go on."
"The meeting in Switzerland you remember right? Departure Friday night. One week."
Lucas's eyes narrowed.
"No."
Mark paused. "Lucas—"
"I said no," Lucas repeated, voice low steel. "Rachel's sports day is next week."
Mark exhaled quietly but didn't argue emotionally. He knew better.
"The schedule was locked in a month ago," he reminded. "You signed off on it yourself."
Lucas's jaw flexed. He remembered. He remembered thinking: A week won't matter. Before Bella. Before Rachel repeating "Dada" like it belonged to her.
"It can't be moved?" he asked—not hopeful, but restrained.
"No," Mark answered. "Too many board heads, too much preparation. If you don't attend, the other families will assume something's wrong. That's not a risk we take."
Lucas closed his eyes briefly. He wasn't angry—just frustrated.
He wanted to be there. He wanted Rachel to look up from the field and find him cheering. But he was going to miss it. A strange ache tightened in his chest.
"Fine," he muttered, voice clipped. "I'll deal with it."
Mark didn't comment.
"I'll send the final briefing in the morning," he said instead. "You'll need to review the security changes."
Lucas nodded once. "Okay."
"And Lucas?"
"Hm."
"You're doing the right thing."
Lucas didn't answer. He simply ended the call. For a moment, he stayed still—one hand on the balcony railing, staring out at the quiet city lights. Duty had always come first. Always. Until now, it didn't feel as clean.
He took a slow breath, masking everything behind calm neutrality before sliding the door open and stepping back inside. Bella looked up immediately.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
He nodded. "Just work."
No hesitation. No detail. Nothing she could chase. He walked back to the living room, crouched beside Rachel again.
She beamed. "Dada look!"
Lucas took the drawing from her tiny hands. Dragon-kitty was undeniably horrifying. But he smiled—slow, real.
"It's perfect," he murmured.
Rachel giggled and leaned against him, her small shoulder pressing into his chest like she belonged there.
And Lucas held the drawing carefully, as if it were the most important document he had touched all day.
Lucas stayed on the floor a little longer, helping Rachel stick random stars and questionable glitter hearts onto the dragon-kitty masterpiece. Rachel narrated every sticker placement with the seriousness of a surgeon, and Lucas nodded as if she was giving military instructions.
Bella watched the two of them, with a feeling she didn't entirely know how to name yet. Something domestic. Something safe.
Eventually, Rachel wandered off to wash her hands—mostly because she accidentally glued her fingers together—and Bella stood, walking past Lucas.
"Come on," she said lightly, "we should start dinner before Rachel decides glitter counts as food."
Lucas stood, brushing glitter off his shirt—unsuccessfully.
"Your daughter tried to weaponize arts and crafts."
"That happens when someone gives her power and praise," Bella teased.
Lucas lifted a brow. "Are you suggesting I'm enabling her?"
Bella hummed. "You're encouraging creative chaos."
"…Fair."
She laughed softly and moved toward the kitchen. Lucas followed, leaning against the counter while she opened the refrigerator.
As she started prepping ingredients, her voice slipped into the room casually, like a stone rolling without meaning to.
"Oh—by the way, Dr. Harris confirmed our appointment. It's tomorrow at eleven."
Lucas stilled. Appointment. Tomorrow. He blinked. He had to leave Friday night—not tomorrow. But still—he had meant to tell her earlier. He knew he needed to.
But Bella continued, completely unaware.
"I'm glad we finally got a slot," she said while rinsing vegetables. "I want to hear how the baby's growing. Rachel's excited too."
Lucas swallowed. Rachel. Sports day. Switzerland. Timing. Things that didn't fit neatly together. He forced his voice steady.
"Tomorrow… eleven. Right."
Bella didn't notice the slight delay—she just nodded and handed him a plate.
"Can you grab the spices?"
He moved automatically—muscle memory taking over while his mind worked somewhere else entirely.
They cooked together quietly—hands brushing occasionally, the air filled with soft sizzling sounds and warm domestic comfort.
Dinner was simple but good. Rachel narrated more stories. Lucas listened. Bella laughed quietly. It felt like a family without anyone needing to define what that meant.
After dinner, while Rachel colored again and Bella wiped down the table, Lucas gathered the dishes. When she reached to help, he gently stopped her with two fingers touching her wrist.
"I've got it," he murmured.
Bella's breath caught—not because of the words, but because of the way his touch lingered before he pulled away.
Outside the moment, everything looked ordinary. Inside it—charged.
The apartment was quiet in that late-evening way—soft lights, distant traffic, the faint hum of the refrigerator. Rachel had fallen asleep quickly, curled against her stuffed rabbit, and Bella had lingered a few moments just watching her breathing.
Lucas stood by the door, waiting, hands in his pockets like he didn't know what to do with them.
It was strange how normal this felt.
When she finally walked to the bedroom, he followed without a word.
They settled into bed—her on her side, him lying on his back, one hand resting behind his head. For a while, neither spoke. The darkness wasn't uncomfortable. It was the kind that wrapped around two people who no longer needed small talk.
Bella closed her eyes, but she didn't feel sleepy. Her heartbeat felt louder than it should. But she could feel him.
His movements. His breathing. His awareness. Minutes stretched. Then he exhaled, low and frustrated.
"You're not sleeping," she whispered without turning.
"Neither are you," he murmured back.
Silence again. Bella shifted, rolling slowly onto her back. Their shoulders brushed. Not an accident. Not ignored. Lucas didn't move, but his breath changed—deeper, slower. Focused.
She turned her head just enough to see his profile in the faint warm light from the hallway. His lashes lowered. His jaw clenched.
"You're restless," she whispered.
He didn't deny it.
"I—" his voice paused, quiet, thoughtful. "I'm fine. Just work stress."
She pushed herself up slightly, hand reaching for his face. He stopped breathing—not dramatically, just the tiny stillness of someone caught off guard in the best way.
Her thumb brushed his cheekbone, slow, gentle, intimate. Slowly, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Warm. Tender. Familiar. She stayed close, her breath brushing his skin.
"There," she whispered. "Now you can sleep."
When she pulled back, he didn't open his eyes. But he moved. He turned slightly—slow, cautious—and rested his head against her chest, right over her heartbeat. His arm slid around her waist, holding her—not tightly, but with a quiet kind of certainty.
Bella hesitated only a moment before her fingers slipped into his hair, combing through it gently. His breathing steadied.
"Better?" she whispered.
His lips brushed her skin when he answered—barely a movement, but enough to make her pulse jump.
"Yeah," he breathed. "Much better."
She whispered into his hair, barely audible, "Goodnight, Lucas."
Sleep finally took him. But Bella stayed awake, fingers still threaded through his hair — realizing too late that somewhere along the way, his heartbeat had started to feel like home.