The enormous screen flickered to life, casting shifting colors across the hundreds of sunflowers and the quiet, intimate space we'd created. I had pulled one of the armored SUVs onto the deck and lowered the back seats, piling them with blankets and pillows. It was a tactical vantage point disguised as a drive-in theater.
Bel was nestled beside me, her head resting on my shoulder. She wasn't watching the movie I'd chosen…Mama mia…she was watching the sunflowers, her face illuminated by the screen, a soft, ethereal glow replacing the usual hard edge of concentration.
She reached for the massive bowl of popcorn I'd prepared. I watched her, amused, as she meticulously sprinkled a handful of colorful Astro's…the ridiculously sweet, circular candy…into her heavily salted popcorn. It was a jarring, chaotic mix of flavors, and yet, watching her eat it with absolute seriousness, I found it endearing. Another bizarre human preference filed into the 'Belinda Knight' database.
She really is a beautiful mess, I thought, a swell of protective love nearly overwhelming me. I reached into my bowl, snagging a kernel of plain popcorn…I liked mine simple, a pure delivery system.
I looked down at her, memorizing the curve of her smile, the way the light caught the gold flecks in her brown eyes. This was the peace I had killed for. This was the sanctuary. I kissed the top of her head.
Belinda's POV
I was aware of his gaze…warm, possessive, and entirely focused on my fleeting moment of normalcy. The sunflowers, the movie, the sheer, brazen comfort of it all…it was a masterful counter-move to the brutal week we'd had.
I knew he noticed the Astros in my popcorn. It was a habit I'd hidden…a small, childish indulgence I can't seem to get over. It was ridiculous, but tonight, it felt like an act of emotional rebellion. I took another bite, the sweet, salty, crunchy mix a perfect reflection of my current, chaotic state.
I glanced at his hand, resting near the bowl. He only took the plain ones. Plain. Just like his strategy: pure, direct, efficient. He found mine too salty, too complicated.
I loved him for his plainness, for his brutal honesty, for the fact that he was so focused on being my shield that he didn't even notice the small, fundamental shifts in my body or behavior.
Nunus. The word echoed in my mind. The pet name I reserved only for him, the word that dissolved my steel. The sheer, joy I felt in this moment…safe, seen, and utterly adored…was a terrifying vulnerability. It made the coming fight essential. I had to protect this peace, this sanctuary, and the life I carried.
I shifted, turning my attention to the movie, burying the raw emotion deep, deep beneath the surface. I had my cousins Rosline and Ronda were safe and informed. Jackson was focused. The world could wait until morning.
Normally I'd say I hate receiving flowers dedicated to me because they represent something very meaningful to me. I hate receiving them in vein or just as a romantic gesture. To me they represent a promise. It's a bit stupid so I don't talk about it…but tonight my heart is allowing his flowers.
I hope he keeps the internal promise they represent to me. I've never received flowers from a man…let alone sun flowers in my entire life. I never saw such gestures growing up either…it was always in movies and the men would always marry those women. The little girl in me feels healed. It's uncomfortable but…it means something deeper than he will ever understand.
But again…it's dumb I know. It's something that only exists in my head and he really did just get me flowers because girls love flowers.
Eventually he pulled out a lollipop ring and proposed to me as a funny joke.
Obviously I said yes, this man is perfection.
Jackson's POV
Later, in the master suite, the only light came from the distant city glow over the False Bay. Rosline and Ronda were settled safely in the South Wing, a comfortable distance away.
The tension between us, held taut all week by the ghost courier and the General's impending counter-attack, finally broke.
I pulled her into the center of the large bed, drawing her close. I didn't need to ask for consent because it was a non-verbal agreement, a shared relief. I could see it in her body language.
I didn't attempt to take anything from her. I understood that she needed to feel completely safe, completely wanted without obligation. This was my act of devotion, my silent apology for the lies and the murder.
I moved over her, my hands anchoring her hips, my focus entirely on her mouth, her neck, the sensitive skin behind her ear—the places where the strategist melted away. I used my lips and tongue, slowly, deliberately, creating a rising storm that was entirely for her.
Her hands found my hair, gripping tight as the pleasure crested.
She grabs my hair so much I swear I can feel myself balding.
Her quiet gasps were the only metric of success I needed. I found my own complete pleasure in the act of giving, in the overwhelming knowledge that I could make her feel this wanted, this secure, even now. The power of it was a different kind of high than any strategic victory…a deep, soul-shaking satisfaction that had nothing to do with dominance and everything to do with devotion.
I pulled back, resting my forehead against hers, both of us breathless.
"I love you, Bel," I whispered against her skin, a fierce, silent oath. "I just need you safe."
I didn't even realise I had just uttered the forbidden three words I swore I'd never loosely say.
She didn't reply with the words I craved, but her hands cupped my face, pulling me in for one last, deep kiss…a kiss that was a promise, an acceptance, and a final, physical reassurance.
I gave her all of me while solely focusing on her needs and when she was satisfied, I retreated and got us ready for bed.
That's all that mattered. Simply existing next to her is enough for me.
~The next morning~
I woke to the low, urgent hum of the thermal alarm. General's counter-move.
I was instantly on my feet, pulling on tactical pants and grabbing my comms from the nightstand.
"Tyrone, status!"
"Hey man, two black zodiacs inbound, fast, heading for the cliff face. Estimated eleven bodies. Non-lethal approach confirmed, they're trying to infiltrate."
"They're coming for a message, not a fight," I snapped, grabbing my rifle. "Love, armor up! South Wing is the fallback."
I ran to the main lounge. Belinda was already there, but she wasn't in tactical gear. She was wearing her black silk pajamas, standing with Rosline and Ronda, all three of them armed, ready, and utterly calm.
"Rosline and Ronda will take the interior perimeter," Belinda stated, her eyes sharp. "I'll handle the forward defense. They won't breach the vault."
The coordination was flawless. The compound defenses were overwhelming. The eleven enemy agents were neutralized and secured within fifteen minutes. The General had sent a statement, and we had returned it in a kind: We are ready.
The rest of the day was dedicated to cleaning up the tactical intrusion. By nightfall, the compound was quiet, secure, and fragrant with the lingering scent of sunflowers.
I was in the secure vault, debriefing Tyrone, when a soft knock came at the door.
"She needs the time off," Ronda informed me, her expression unreadable. "It was a stressful day. No interruptions. She's securing her internal peace."
I nodded, utterly exhausted but satisfied. "Tell her... good work."
I returned to the master suite a half hour later. Belinda was gone. The only sign of her was a cloud of floral steam escaping from the bathroom.
I walked toward the door. Inside, the light was soft, the massive jet tub overflowing with bubbles. Rosline and Ronda had drawn her a bath.
Belinda was submerged, her head resting back against the porcelain, utterly relaxed. But on the ledge beside the tub, sitting next to a glass of water, wasn't the usual wine or tea. It was a strange, thick, green concoction in a small glass.
"It helps with the stress," she explained, opening one eye, catching my curious gaze. "Ronda's recipe. Full system optimization."
I leaned against the doorway, watching the steam rise. I didn't question the green drink, didn't question the sudden, immense need for quiet. I simply accepted it as part of her routine.
"I love you, okay?" I repeated, the silent vow of the morning now a tired, absolute truth.
It doesn't bother me that she hasn't said it back. I want her to mean it when she does.
"I know, Nunus," she said softly, closing her eyes. "That's why we're winning."
I walked over, kissed her forehead, and left her to her sanctuary. I walked back to the master bed, falling into the exhaustion of a successful defense. I had successfully countered the General, sent him a ghost, and protected my beautiful girl. I was winning. I had no idea the real fight was just beginning, and that the ultimate weapon of my enemy was already safe, and thriving, inside the fortress I had built.
In our time here we realised my father was the only one of Chester's associates to worry about so that completely changed our direction.