She stirred, a low sound in her throat. "You're back."
"Always." I kissed her temple, cheekbone, jaw. "Go back to sleep, baby. Just needed to feel you breathing."
Her fingers found my wrist, squeezed once. "Liar. You need to be reminded who you belong to before four hundred people try to steal you."
I smiled against her skin. "Never happening."
Left her there, tucked the sheet up to her shoulder like she was something breakable, she wasn't, but that thinking felt good sometimes. I padded barefoot to the kitchen. Evening was sliding in fast, shadows stretching long across the marble like they were reaching for the bottle of tequila already waiting on the counter.
I cooked one-handed: ribeyes sizzling in garlic butter, eggs runny, avocado sliced thick. The pan hissed like it knew secrets. Phone kept lighting up beside the stove.
Mom had called four times. Jasmine twice. Keyla left a voice note that started with death threats and ended with tears.
