A soft ding~ from the oven jolts Neva out of her daydreams.
Startled, she blinks—her fingers still curled loosely around the novel in her lap, its pages forgotten. The sound slices through the cozy hush of the apartment, pulling her firmly back to now.
She exhales, setting the book aside and slipping off the white marble countertop with a graceful hop.
Slipping on her cool mitts, she presses the button to end the cycle, then gently swings the door open.
A wave of heat rolls out—molten, chocolate-sweet scent spills into the air, wrapping around her like velvet.
The smell instantly tingles her senses, awakening warmth inside her chest—something like nostalgia and joy, mingled.
A soft smile tugs at her lips.
She slides the tray out, carefully placing it on the steel rack to cool.
"I'm back~!" Rhett's voice echoes through the space—sing-song and smug.
She doesn't respond immediately, busy transferring the cookies from tray to a white plate, placing it in the center of the table.
"Angel, I'm back!" he tries again, louder this time, and enters the kitchen with a wide grin, eyes zeroing in on her like a homing missile.
Neva doesn't turn around.
"I see that," she says naturally, though the corner of her mouth curls up.
Then—he spots them.
Cookies. Still warm. Still steaming.
His face lights up like a child on Christmas morning. "They're done?" he asks, inching closer to the cookies.
He places the groceries on the dining table, his gaze flickering between the cookies and her, as if seeking permission—or waiting for an opening.
Neva narrows her eyes at his eagerness.
He bends closer, inhaling with exaggerated delight. "God, you're going to kill me with these," he groans. Then reaches out to grab one.
Neva instantly slaps his hand away.
"Ow—Why?!" he whines, shaking his fingers.
"They're hot," she warns.
Rhett mouths an exaggerated ohh, nodding solemnly as if he's just been taught ancient wisdom. "How long do I have to suffer?"
"They'll cool soon," she answers calmly, beginning to unpack the groceries.
"Did you bring everything I asked for?" she asks, rummaging through the goods.
"Of course," he says, absentmindedly.
From the corner of her eye, she watches him practically salivate. He paces near the table like a hungry wolf denied his prey.
She sighs. Hopeless.
Knowing he'll try to sneak one again and burn his tongue, she plucks a cookie from the tray, blowing gently on it. Rhett watches every move—eyes intense, lips parted.
Once it's warm enough, she steps closer.
"Here," she says softly, holding the cookie to his lips.
He blinks in surprise.
Her fingers are close—so close. He leans in, mouth closing over the treat, but his warm lips graze her fingertips in the process.
The accidental touch sends a ripple of warmth up her arm.
Her breath catches.
His eyes flutter shut.
He takes his moment to chew, reverently, and taste all of the flavours. Then swallows, a blissful sigh spilling from him.
"Mmm—holy... That was transcendent."
Neva chuckles and turns away to unpack the rest.
"Rhett, where's the rice?"
"Rice?" he echoes.
She peers inside the bags, growing increasingly annoyed. "It's not here. I checked three times."
Rhett rubs the back of his neck. "...I might have forgotten?"
She glares at him. "What are we supposed to eat then?"
"Cookies?" he offers with a sheepish grin.
She puffs her cheeks in frustration. "No dinner for you unless you go back."
His face crumples in betrayal. "That's abuse."
"That's consequences," she retorts, snatching a jar from the counter.
They bicker for a few minutes—like two tired newlyweds. Familiar. Irritated.
Eventually, Neva huffs and stomps into her room, Rhett following right on her heels, still throwing half-hearted excuses at her back.
She ignores him.
Shrugs on a grey coat from the hanger, then grabs a pale–pink scarf and tosses it loosely around her neck.
"Why are you following me around?" she mutters, adjusting the scarf and slipping on her shoes, aware of how close he's standing—hovering like a storm cloud with too much feeling behind his silence.
His expression shifts. Serious. Far more than the moment seems to deserve.
"What if something happens?" he says quietly.
"What if someone tries to take you away from me? Young lady, don't you fear?" He says it with a half-joking tone, but his eyes betray him.
The truth is—he just doesn't want to be apart from her.
Neva glances at him, too tired to argue anymore.
She straightens and exhales softly, and for a heartbeat, something tender lingers in the air between them.
He smiles, offering his hand.
She looks down at it, then up at him. Her lips purse. She looks away.
Without a word, she turns and heads for the entrance, pulling open the door.
Behind her, he lingers—fingers closing slowly, a small smile tugging at his lips, trying to mask the quiet ache tightening in his chest.
"Come out soon, or I'm gonna leave you behind," Neva calls, waiting at the threshold, aware of his gloomier shadow stretching through her hallway.
He looks up at her, and when she finally offers her hand—her soft eyes meeting his—his own light up like dawn breaking through overcast skies.
Rhett steps closer, smiling sheepishly as he takes her warm hand in his.
She closes the door with a quiet click.
"Such a babyboy," Neva murmurs under her breath, intertwining their fingers.
He just smiles at her, tightening his hold on her.
They walk side by side, golden street lanterns casting a warm glow through the late hush of a blue evening—slowly, quietly—along the nostalgic autumn street where they first met.
In the quiet convenience store, while Neva inspects the endless rows of rice packs stacked high on the tall racks, Rhett pushes the cart behind her—silent, unusually alert.
"Do you need to grab anything?" she asks, glancing over her shoulder.
"No. Are you done?" he says simply.
She nods, a slight frown forming.
Something flickers in his eyes.
She can't place it—but it unsettles her.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. If you're done, let's go."
They make it back to their apartment building in silence.
Rhett halts just outside the entrance.
His jaw is tight. Eyes scanning the perimeter.
The warmth from before long gone.
"You go in first. I need to make a call."
Neva tilts her head, brow creasing. "Don't take too long. The cookies won't wait."
"That's not fair," he mutters with a half-smile, holding the door open.
She walks in, tossing him a teasing grin over her shoulder.
The door shuts softly behind her with a click.
Then everything shifts.
Rhett's face hardens. His posture changes—leaner, sharper, colder.
He moves.
Down the back stairs, into the quiet, overgrown courtyard where shadows crawl beneath dim yellow lamplight.
Branches sway, but there's no wind.
His hand slips beneath his jacket.
Sig Sauer P365 X Macro Tacops. Black. Compact. Lethal.
It glints cold in the dark.
He raises the pistol, voice flat—razor sharp.
"Come out."
Silence.
Then movement.
A tall figure steps from the trees.
Hooded. Masked. Still.
Rhett doesn't blink. "What do you want?" he demands, voice cold.
The man pulls back his hood. Drops the mask.
Rhett exhales through his nose, annoyed. "Ace."
He lowers the gun and slides it back into his waistband—but tension still coils in his fingers.
"Explain."
Ace grins. "Boss… seriously? You got yourself a girl? She's gorgeous."
Rhett's hand drops to his boot.
Steel flashes.
In one smooth motion, the blade is airborne—silent, fast, deadly.
Ace's hand twitches—snatching it from the air, barely catching it by the hilt.
His heart pounds, but his face stays cool.
"Whoa—chill man." He laughs nervously.
"It was a compliment. I'm not suicidal."
Rhett's voice is ice. "Don't talk about her."
Ace raises both hands in surrender. "Alright! Message received. Elk sent me."
"I'm on leave."
"He says it's a team job. If you ghost him, we all get canned."
Rhett turns away. "Then you're canned."
"Come on, Boss," Ace's voice shifts, more serious now. "You think Elk will let you stay in domestic bliss forever?"
Rhett stops.
Above them, a soft glow spills from Neva's window—warm, golden. Safe.
His fingers twitch.
She's inside. Singing to herself, probably.
His whole world.
Without turning, Rhett growls, "Tell Elk to fuck off."
Ace watches him vanish into the building, half-stunned.
Czar—stone-cold, untouchable, ruthless—tamed by a girl with starry eyes and chocolate chip cookies?
Unreal.
But real enough to make him worry.
She's the only thing Czar would bleed for now.
And that means one thing—
There's finally a way to break him.