I leaned against Chak and closed my eyes.
"I'll sleep a little," I whispered.
"Alright," he replied.
Chak pulled me closer, gently stroking my back with his hand and softly kissing my hair.
I fell asleep, and when I woke up, I felt that he was still beside me. I looked at him and said,
"I'm hungry."
"I'll cook something for you," Chak said.
Slowly, we got up and went to the kitchen. When we arrived, Chak picked up the remote and the blinds slid upward. Gentle morning light filled the room.
"What if you didn't cook today?" I asked, taking his hand and playing with his fingers.
"What would you like to eat?" Chak asked me.
"Whatever you want," I said, leaning against his arm.
At that moment, Anamarija walked in through the terrace door. We both looked at her. She smiled faintly and said,
"I see you two made up."
We didn't need to answer; Chak and I just smiled at each other.
"What would you like for lunch?" Chak asked her.
"Pizza. But… I'm not sure if you even have it in Thailand," she said in a playful tone.
Chak raised an eyebrow at her.
"Of course we have pizza in Thailand," he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
Anamarija laughed softly. "Good. Because that's exactly what I want."
Chak pulled out his phone. "Alright then, pizza it is. Niran, what about you?"
I shrugged with a smile. "Pizza sounds good."
"Fine then, we'll order. What flavor do you want?"
"Just a normal one," Anamarija said.
Chak showed us the menu on his phone. "Would this be alright?"
"Yes," she replied.
"It'll be here in about 30 minutes,"Chak said.
While we waited, the three of us lingered in the kitchen. The sunlight spilling through the windows gave everything a warm, gentle glow.
Chak glanced at the clock and then at the counter.
"It can't just be pizza for lunch," he said matter-of-factly.
Anamarija raised an eyebrow. "Why not? Pizza is enough for me."
I laughed softly. "He's like this—always making sure there's a healthy food on the table too."
Chak looked at both of us, pretending to be serious, though the corners of his lips betrayed him. "You'll thank me later."
He opened the fridge and started pulling things out—fresh salad greens, a few tomatoes, some fruit.
"Let's at least make a salad. And maybe cut some fruit for dessert."
Anamarija smiled, watching him. "So you really do a salad beside pizza."
"He really means it" I added with a teasing grin. "But today, he's only allowed to make a salad not something else."
Chak shot me a look, amused but playful. "Fine. Pizza and salad it is."
Together, we began chopping vegetables and setting the table, the atmosphere light and easy, laughter flowing as naturally as the sunlight.
By the time the pizza arrived, the table was already set with a colorful salad, a plate of neatly sliced mango, and glasses of cold water. Chak placed the pizza boxes in the center, and the three of us sat down.
The first few minutes were filled with laughter, the crunch of fresh salad, and the warm aroma of melted cheese. It felt almost unreal—like we had always shared meals together.
But then Anamarija put her slice of pizza back on the plate and exhaled softly. "I have to admit… I'm a little nervous," she said.
Chak immediately looked at her. "Nervous? About what?"
Her fingers played with the edge of her napkin. "About tonight. The dinner. I don't know what to expect."
Chak's tone softened. "Don't worry. I'll be right there beside you."
I leaned in with a small smile. "Me too. You won't be alone."
That seemed to calm her, and her lips curved into a relieved smile. "Thank you. That makes me feel better."
She hesitated, then asked, "So… when exactly is the dinner?"
"At six," Chak replied calmly. "We'll leave around five."
Anamarija nodded, taking a small sip of water before picking up her pizza again. The tension seemed to ease, and the atmosphere returned to its earlier warmth, though now with a sense of anticipation for the evening ahead.
After lunch, Chak took my hand.
" Niran," Chak said. "We need to choose what we're going to wear."
"Alright," I replied, standing up. He took my hand and led me into our room. Opening the closet, he said, "You pick for me, and I'll pick for you."
"This should be fun," I laughed.
I stepped up to his shirts, scanning through them. "I don't like any of these. They're all too dark. Don't you have anything lighter?" I asked.
"No," he answered simply.
"Then I'll buy you a light-colored shirt," I told him.
Chak came closer, leaning his head against my shoulder. His voice was soft as he whispered in my ear, "If you buy it for me, it will be something special."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I love you," he whispered back.
A shiver ran through me. His gentle voice sent goosebumps across my skin.
"Your closet needs a bit more color," I told him.
"I don't think so," Chak replied calmly. Then he smiled faintly. "You are my color."
He pulled out a black shirt. "I'll wear this one."
"You can't go to dinner in a black shirt. You're not going to a funeral," I teased.
"Then which one should I wear, Mr. Artist?" he teased back.
I went to my own closet, opened it, and pulled out my pink shirt. "You'll wear this," I said with a laugh.
Chak froze, horrified. "Absolutely not. I'm not wearing that."
"Just for me," I pleaded, giving him a look.
"Don't give me that look, Niran. I can't resist it," Chak sighed, though a smile tugged at his lips.
"Chaky, please," I whispered.
"Fine. I'll wear it… but only when we're alone at home," he said.
"Great idea," I grinned.
I turned back to his closet and pulled out a dark blue shirt. "You'll wear this one."
Chak stepped up to mine and pulled out a light blue shirt.
"I'll wear the gray trousers," I told him.
"I'll go with black," Chak replied.
"You don't really have any other option," I teased with a laugh.
"Let's get changed," Chak suggested.
He pulled off his shirt, and I could feel my face burning red. Of course, he noticed. He stepped closer to me and said softly,
"Still not used to my body?"
"I still feel the same as that time you took off your shirt in the office," I admitted.
"But now you can actually touch me," Chak murmured, taking my hand and placing it on his arm.
Our eyes locked, and as he guided my hand slowly across his body, I felt every inch of him under my touch, every heartbeat echoing in the silence between us.
Time seemed to stand still.
"Chak, we have to hurry, we're going to be late," I said.
"With you, I'm never in a hurry," he replied.
He slipped on his shirt, and when I looked into his eyes, I immediately knew what he wanted.
"Let me button it for you," I said softly, slowly fastening each button one by one. When I reached the last one, I leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his neck.
Chak reached for my shirt as if he wanted to take it off me, but I quickly stopped him.
"I'll do it myself," I said quietly, turning away in slight embarrassment. Slowly, I pulled the shirt over my head, the feeling of unease clinging to me.
Then I felt a soft breath brush against my neck. I flinched and turned—he was standing right behind me, holding a light gray shirt in his hands.
"You don't need to feel embarrassed," he whispered gently.
He unfolded the shirt before me as if offering it, and when I slipped my arms into the sleeves, he helped drape it over my shoulders. His fingers grazed my neck as he adjusted the collar, and with every touch my heart beat faster.
Chak stayed close in front of me as he straightened the shirt. Our eyes met, and without a word, he reached for the first button. Slowly, he fastened it, then the second, then the third. His fingers were warm, and each touch sent shivers across my skin.
"You don't have to," I said, my voice soft and unsure.
"I like taking care of you," he replied, fastening the last button. Then he let his hand rest on my chest, as if he wanted to feel me just a little longer.
I took his black blazer out of the closet, handed it to him, and asked:
"Why does it feel like all your blazers are tailor-made?"
"Because they are," he replied with one of his rare smiles.
We each slipped into our blazers, and when I looked at him, I said:
"You look handsome… but something's missing."
"What's missing?" he asked.
"This," I whispered, stepped closer, and kissed him.
Chak pulled me into his arms, holding me close as if he wanted to chase away my doubts. I rested my head on his shoulder and quietly asked:
"Chak… what will you tell your mother about who I am?"
He fell silent for a moment, then calmly—almost coldly—replied:
"I'll tell her you're my secretary."
The words stung, but I didn't protest. I just took a deep breath, stayed in his embrace, and nodded, knowing it was the easiest way for him.
We headed to the living room, and soon after, the sound of footsteps echoed from the stairs. Anamarija descended gracefully, dressed in an elegant gown. When she reached us, I said,
"You look stunning."
"You two as well," she replied with a smile.
Together, we walked to the car. While driving, I asked Chak,
"What if Chai and Malai tell your mother that we're a couple?"
"They won't," he answered curtly. "I wrote to them—it has to stay between us."
I squeezed his hand and whispered,
"Thank you."
"Don't worry about anything. Everything will be fine. With me, you're two safe," he assured us.
In the mirror, I caught Anamarija's nervous smile.
Moments later, we arrived at a massive beige gate, guarded by a security officer. He bowed politely and opened it. The car slowly rolled forward. In the distance, a blue roof appeared, standing out against the gray sky. The closer we got, the more the house grew before our eyes—transforming from a faint silhouette into a true mansion.
The road sloped upward, lined with lights that illuminated the way. With every meter, it became clear this was no ordinary house but a grand estate. Ahead of us, a white entrance gleamed, supported by towering pillars that stood like guardians, while the sound of water trickled gently from a fountain.
On the sides, balconies and rounded turrets revealed themselves, each detail carefully designed to radiate strength and elegance. As we neared the entrance, I felt as if we were arriving at the set of a movie—like someone very important would appear on the steps at any moment.
As we drove, I glanced at Chak and quietly asked,
"Did you live here?"
He simply nodded without a word.
Anamarija's eyes widened as she looked around at the grandeur.
"This house is at least three times bigger than the one I live in," she said.
"Same here," I added, staring out the window.
Chak gave us both a brief look and said coolly,
"When we're inside, I'll act cold."
I turned to him in surprise.
"Why?"
His voice was calm but firm.
"Because it's what's best for all of us."
The car stopped in front of the white entrance with its towering pillars. Almost instantly, security guards appeared, one of them stepping forward to open the door.
As we stepped out, they all bowed slightly in unison.
"Welcome back, sir," they greeted Chak.
But then their eyes shifted to Anamarija—clearly surprised by her presence. A wave of unease washed over me, and I glanced at her. She quickly looked back at me, sharing the same nervousness.
Chak didn't pause. With a cold expression, he walked ahead as if everything was perfectly ordinary.
Anamarija and I exchanged another look before quietly following him toward the grand entrance.
As we crossed the threshold, the massive doors closed softly behind us. Inside, everything was even more magnificent than outside—the marble floors gleamed under the lights, chandeliers hung high above, and a staircase with an intricately carved wooden railing rose gracefully to the upper floor.
Suddenly, staff members appeared—servants in neat uniforms lined up along the sides, bowing deeply.
"Welcome home, Master Chak," they said almost in unison.
Their curious glances shifted toward Anamarija and me, as if silently questioning who we were and why we were here. Anamarija clutched her purse a little tighter, while I instinctively stood closer to Chak.
From the upper floor came the sound of calm yet firm footsteps. Everyone turned. Descending the staircase was an elegant woman in a long silk dress—Chak's mother.
Chak's mother stopped at the last step. Her posture was upright, almost regal. She wore a long silk gown in a deep emerald shade, the fabric shimmering softly with every movement. Her jet-black hair was pulled back into a flawless bun, not a single strand out of place. Around her neck rested a delicate necklace with a gemstone that gleamed like a drop of frozen dew. Her eyes—dark, sharp, and piercing—gave the impression that they could strip away every layer and see straight into the truths one wished to keep hidden.
Her gaze swept across the hall—first to the servants, then to me, and then to Anamarija. At last, it landed on Chak.
"You finally came back," she said coldly. Her voice carried the faintest trace of relief, but it was quickly buried beneath icy distance.
Chak gave a slight bow. "Mother."
As the servants at the sides bowed deeply, the room fell into an uncanny silence. I stood at Chak's side, wrapped in his cold presence that, paradoxically, made me feel safe.
Her eyes slowly shifted to me. For a brief moment, I felt as though she was dissecting me, trying to uncover who I was and why I was here. My breath caught in my throat, but I quickly bowed.
"Good evening, madam," I said quietly and respectfully.
She didn't respond. Instead, she turned to Anamarija. Her expression softened slightly, though it remained cautious.
"And you are?" she asked in Thai.
Anamarija froze. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. She only looked at Chak.
Chak stepped forward. "Mom, she doesn't understand Thai," he explained calmly. Then, in an icy tone, he added, "Who she is, I'll explain later at dinner, when Chai and Malai are present. As for him—he's Niran, my secretary."
I bowed again, but inside, my thoughts screamed: In truth, I'm also his boyfriend.
For a heartbeat, everything stilled. The servants exchanged quick, almost invisible glances. His mother's face shifted—from surprise to sternness. Her eyes narrowed, as though she had received more from that answer than she wished.
"Why didn't I know about this?"she asked slowly, almost sharply. "That we would be having a mysterious guest—and your secretary."
Her perfume, faintly floral, lingered in the air as she swept past us without another word. The servants bowed even deeper until she disappeared behind the grand doors.
I remained by Chak's side. I could feel the tension in him, even though outwardly he stayed perfectly composed. I looked at him and whispered, "She's angry with you."
Chak didn't take his eyes off the stairs. His voice was cold, steady.
"This is only the beginning."
When we stepped into the dining room, I was struck by its size. A long table made of dark wood stood in the center, already set with fine porcelain dishes and crystal glasses. Above us hung a massive golden chandelier, its soft warm glow reflecting on the silver forks and knives. The whole scene felt like something from another world—cold, yet majestic.
On the other side of the table, Malai and Chai were already seated, each with their partner beside them. Malai's partner was neatly dressed in a light shirt and elegant trousers, his expression kind and warm. Chai sat next to Tarn. He looking him with lovely eyes holding him almost protectively, as if giving him strength.
As soon as they saw us, everyone rose. Malai stepped forward with a smile, but her gaze quickly landed on Anamarija, as if she instinctively sensed something unusual. Chai, however, remained more reserved—his eyes moved sharply to Chak and then to me, as if trying to figure out what was happening.
Chak took a step ahead of us. His voice was calm, but there was something uncompromising in it:
"Before we begin dinner, I need to say something important."
His eyes swept across all their faces before settling on his sister and brother.
"This is Anamarija, she's from Slovenia and she is " he said, his tone cool and clear. "Our half-sister."