ARSHILA — POV
"Meow."
I freeze so hard my brain straight-up disconnects.
What.
I blink.
Once.
Twice.
Did I just hear a cat?
In this house?
I turn slowly, heart doing that stupid little jump it didn't ask permission for. A cat. Here. In this massive, controlled, sterile, very-much-not-cat-friendly mansion.
I've been living here for five months.
Five.
There are no bowls. No toys. No fur. No scratches. No tiny asshole knocking things off tables for fun.
So either I'm hallucinating.
Or I'm about to die in a horror movie.
The hallway is dark ahead of me. Not pitch black. Worse. That dim, expensive lighting that makes everything look calm while hiding whatever the hell it wants. Silence sits thick, like it's listening back.
No sound.
No movement.
Yeah. No way.
Absolutely not.
My brain immediately starts coping. Maybe it was a pipe. Or air pressure. Or the house settling. Rich houses make noises. Expensive noises. Pretentious noises. That's probably it.
Right?
Ghost crosses my mind anyway.
Fuck.
I start walking faster. Not running. Running is admitting fear. I refuse to give this house that satisfaction. My steps pick up, heartbeat loud in my ears, shoulders tight like I'm bracing for something to grab me.
Nothing does.
The main house opens up and I actually exhale like I've been holding my breath for ten years. Light. Space. Familiar corners. My body unclenches a little.
The darkness back there feels loud now. Like it's offended I left.
I don't look back.
I head straight for the stairs, take them two at a time, dignity fully abandoned. By the time I reach the top, I'm half annoyed at myself and half relieved I'm not dead.
Priorities.
I push into our room and—
Fuck.
His smell hits me instantly.
Not subtle. Not polite.
Cedar. Clean. Warm. Something expensive and unfairly sexy underneath it. Like confidence bottled and sprayed all over the place. My brain short-circuits for a second.
If his room smells like this…
What the fuck does his body smell like?
My cheeks burn immediately.
"Get a grip," I mutter, slapping my own face lightly. "You're getting naughty, bitch."
I smile anyway. Traitor.
The room is quiet. His side untouched. The bed looks stupidly inviting, sheets smooth, pillows exactly how he likes them. Controlled. Precise. Like him.
I walk over without thinking too hard about it and sit on the edge.
The mattress dips.
Fuck.
It's soft. Too soft. Comfortable in a way that feels personal. The scent wraps around me more now, warm and familiar and grounding in the most annoying way.
I lie back slowly.
The ceiling blurs for a second as my body sinks in. My muscles relax without asking my permission. My lungs fill deeper. The tension I carry around like a second spine eases just a bit.
After that day.
After crying my heart out right here, breaking down like I hate to do, this bed doesn't feel distant anymore. It doesn't feel like his.
It feels… safe.
That thought pisses me off a little.
I glance toward the door to my room. The one tucked inside his space. My room. My territory. Where I'm supposed to go. Where I always end up feeling hollow and quiet and alone with my thoughts.
I don't want to go in there.
I stay right where I am.
His bed is warm. Comfortable. Too comfortable. Even without him here, it feels like someone solid exists in the world. Like I don't have to hold everything up by myself for five damn minutes.
I won't tell him that.
Ever.
Even if we don't touch. Even if nothing happens. Even if this is just sleep. I won't say it out loud. Ego is a disease and I'm terminal.
I close my eyes.
Just a few minutes, I tell myself. I'll get up. I'll move. I'll go to my room like a normal, emotionally stable person.
I imagine him here. Not doing anything. Just existing beside me. Quiet. Solid. Annoyingly calm. The thought doesn't make my chest tighten like it used to.
It settles.
A small smile slips onto my face before I can stop it.
Yeah.
Just a few minutes.
___________________________
ZAYAN — POV
I come home late.
Not the dramatic kind of late.
The bone-deep, brain-fogged, shirt-clinging-to-my-back kind of late.
The house isn't dark.
It never is.
Small lights are on. Soft. Intentional. The kind that pretend warmth while keeping everything controlled. Whoever designed this place understood restraint a little too well.
She must be asleep.
That thought settles somewhere in my chest, quiet and steady. The tension I've been carrying loosens by a fraction. I kick my shoes off near the door, shrug out of my jacket, toss it onto the couch without aiming.
I don't miss.
I walk toward the stairs, shoulders heavy, jaw tight, already planning a shower hot enough to erase the day. Each step is muscle memory. Familiar. Predictable.
Our floor greets me with silence.
I reach the room. Push the door open.
And stop.
Dead.
What the—?
She's there.
On my bed.
My actual fucking bed.
Arshila. Curled slightly on her side, hair messy, lips parted just enough to wreck me, breathing slow and even. The blanket is half on, half off like she forgot to care halfway through sleeping.
I don't move.
I genuinely don't.
Because what if I'm imagining this?
What if exhaustion finally snapped something in my brain and now it's feeding me hallucinations tailored exactly to my weakness?
I stay where I am, hand still on the door, pulse loud in my ears.
Then she shifts.
Just a little.
A soft sound slips out of her. Barely there. A breath. A hum. Nothing.
Everything.
It hits my cock and my brain at the same damn time. Low. Sharp. Immediate. Heat snaps through me like a wire catching fire.
Fuck.
I exhale slowly, like I'm trying not to scare a wild animal. My feet move on their own now, quiet, careful. Each step closer feels illegal. Like I'm crossing some line she didn't draw but I can feel anyway.
I start unbuttoning my shirt as I walk. One button. Then another. My fingers are tired. Slower than usual. The fabric loosens, sticks to my skin, finally gives up.
I stop at the edge of the bed.
She's really here.
Sleeping here.
Something in my chest tightens, not painful, just… full. If she sleeps here, that means she trusts me. Even a little. Even unconsciously. That realization hits harder than anything sexual ever could.
I pull the shirt off completely, drop it onto the chair, and turn toward the bathroom before I do something reckless.
The shower helps.
Fuck, it helps.
Hot water pounds down, loosens my shoulders, clears the static in my head. I stand there longer than necessary, forehead against the tile, breathing through the want like it's something I can outlast.
I get dressed quietly after.
When I come back, she hasn't moved much.
She's on the other side of the bed.
In shorts.
Not the ones from morning.
New.
My mouth curves despite myself. Fucking woman doesn't even try to cover her legs. Bare skin everywhere, like she's daring the universe to test me.
I move closer, pull the blanket up slowly, carefully, covering her legs inch by inch. My knuckles brush her calf by accident and my jaw tightens.
She stirs again.
This time she smiles.
Soft. Unaware. Like she's dreaming of something good.
I sit on my side of the bed, mattress dipping gently. I brush her hair back, tuck it behind her ear. My fingers linger there longer than they should.
"Comfortable enough, huh?" I murmur, voice barely above breath.
She doesn't wake. Just shifts closer, like she heard me anyway.
"You're going to be the death of me, Arshila," I whisper, eyes dragging over her face, her neck, the line of her shoulder. "And I love every second of it."
My gaze keeps wandering, greedy and restrained all at once. I bite my lip. Then lick it, slow, like that'll help.
"I want you so badly it hurts," I admit quietly. "Do you even know that?"
My fingers find her hand. I lace them gently through hers, skin warm, familiar in a way that feels dangerous.
"Every time you tease," I continue, low and honest, "every time you stand there like you don't know what you're doing to me… it puts me right on the edge."
I trace my thumb along her knuckles. Down her palm. Feather-light.
"Please don't do that in front of me," I whisper, leaning closer. "I'm so fucking close to losing control. And once I lose it… I won't be gentle."
My hand drifts up. Along her wrist. Her cheek. The bridge of her nose. I drag my finger softly over her lips, barely touching. Almost.
Almost kills me.
"I love you," I breathe, slow and quiet, like the words might shatter if I say them louder.
I stop myself there.
Pull back just enough to survive.
I settle beside her, careful not to wake her, a small smile pulling at my mouth despite everything. My arm rests near hers, not touching, respecting a line she didn't ask me to cross.
I close my eyes.
And for once—
I sleep.
_________________________
ARSHILA — POV
Warmth hits first.
Not blanket-warm.
Body-warm.
And a smell.
Fuck.
That smell.
Cedar. Skin. Heat. Something clean and sharp and stupidly addictive. It slides straight into my lungs and flips a switch in my brain I did not authorize.
I don't open my eyes right away.
I know better.
Something about this feels too real. Too heavy. Too close. My body is relaxed in a way it shouldn't be, like it forgot all its defenses overnight.
My fingers twitch.
They hit skin.
Bare.
Solid.
Alive.
My eyes fly open.
What the actual hell—
Zayan.
Right there.
Sleeping.
Too close. Way too close. Shirtless. His chest rising slow and steady, muscles relaxed like he's not out here ruining lives in his sleep. My hand is on him. Fully on him. Palm flat against his side like it belongs there.
My brain short-circuits.
I slept here.
I didn't go to my room.
I slept. In. His. Bed.
Oh my god.
I jerk back, ready to launch myself off the mattress and into another dimension when his hand closes around my wrist.
Firm.
Warm.
Casual.
"Did you sleep well," he says, voice rough and low and wrecked with sleep.
He doesn't even open his eyes.
I freeze.
Every muscle locks. My heart slams so hard it feels personal. I stare at his face like I'm waiting for it to change shape or accuse me of something.
Slowly—too slowly—his eyes open.
Dark. Focused. Awake now.
He looks straight at me.
"Did you sleep well, wife?"
The word lands heavy. Quiet. Not teasing. Not soft either. Just… there.
I swallow.
Nothing comes out.
So I shove him.
Harder than necessary.
He falls back into the mattress with a surprised grunt that turns into a smirk halfway down. Of course it does. I don't wait to see what expression he settles on.
I bolt.
Bathroom. Door. Lock.
I lean against it, chest heaving like I just ran from the cops. My hands come up to my face. They're shaking.
"What the fuck," I whisper at my reflection.
My hair's a mess. My cheeks are flushed. My lips look suspiciously soft and used and I hate that detail the most.
"Why did I sleep there?" I hiss. "Why didn't I go to my room?"
My eyes drop.
Flash of memory. Warmth. His presence. My hand on his body.
Fuck.
"Did anything happen?" I whisper. "Did I—?"
No. No no no. I would remember. I think. Probably. Hopefully.
"And why the hell was he shirtless?" I add, like the mirror might answer.
I splash water on my face. Breathe. Get myself together. Teeth. Hair. Cold water until my brain stops spiraling.
When I unlock the door—
He's there.
Leaning against the wall like he's been waiting the whole time. Arms crossed. Bare chest on full display because of course he didn't bother fixing that. That stupid, infuriating, unreadable smirk sitting right on his mouth.
I stop dead.
"What is that face," I demand.
He lifts one shoulder. "What face."
"That one," I say, pointing vaguely. "The one that makes me want to commit crimes."
A quiet chuckle slips out of him. Low. Annoying. Intimate.
"Mmm," I say, narrowing my eyes. "Did anything happen yesterday?"
His brow lifts just slightly. "Define 'happen.'"
I hate him.
"You should have woken me," I say, crossing my arms.
"Why would I?" he replies easily.
I open my mouth. Close it. I don't have a clean answer that doesn't expose something I refuse to unpack.
We stare at each other.
Too long.
Something unspoken hangs between us. Thick. Charged. Like the air before a storm decides if it's actually going to break.
I move first, stepping past him toward the door.
"Arshila," he says.
I stop.
"Wait for me in the kitchen," he adds. "Let's have breakfast together."
I freeze again.
Breakfast?
Together?
My brain glitches.
What the hell is happening today?