Dylan's POV
The alarm rings in the silence. I angrily glance at it, and on the second buzz, still half asleep and fully annoyed, I slap it off. It's 5 a.m. My body aches from all the packing and rearranging I roped myself into for Anastasia's sake.
Instead of putting groceries away, I ended up moving everything in the kitchen to her liking. I don't know what kind of validation I'm chasing, but it sure has me wishing for another hour of sleep. Well, work doesn't wait.
I drag myself out of bed and head to the shower. On the way to the kitchen, I pause at her door, cracked slightly open.
I sneak a peek inside and the most amazing view greets me. Ana looks like an angel, one leg draped over the blanket, exposing her thigh down to her foot. Come on, Dylan. You're better than that, I scold myself, forcing my eyes to her face.
Strands of hair rest across her cheek, and I have to walk away before I reach in to brush them back. In the kitchen, the fridge is full from yesterday's trip.
I remember I have to be in the office earlier than usual, but making Ana breakfast brightens my morning. So I do just that. I plate it, then write a note: Sorry for leaving early. Eat. Don't skip. – D.
I hold the pen too long. Part of me wishes she'd walk in right now so I could see her before leaving. Instead, I head out.
At the office, I fight the urge to call her, to ask if she's eaten. My morning is full of meetings. I start sharp and focused, then my mind slips. I picture her walking into the kitchen, half-asleep, teasing me about my routine.
Did she eat it? Or roll her eyes and push it aside?
"Boss, is that okay with you?"
I glance up, startled, but keep my face neutral. Everyone's staring. I nod once. "Yeah. Fine."
They move on. Dodged that bullet.
After the meeting, Harper from litigation approaches. "Thanks again, sir. The Richardson case is exactly what I need. I've been dying to get more client-facing work. I won't let you down." She shakes my hand, glowing, then walks away.
Fuck. The Richardson case. That custody mess. She's gone before I can tell her the truth. Do I run after her? No. The dad's a douche who doesn't deserve representation anyway. Honestly, I don't care if Harper loses. Mr. Richardson thinks he's above everyone because of his gated community and sports car.
Taking this case meant long nights and fewer resources for others — not anymore. Thank you, Harper.
I rush to my office and email her everything on the case. Good riddance. Today I'll get out of here early.
Sitting back, I realize I was in that whole meeting without catching a word. All I could think of was her. She's all I've ever wanted. Xander's perfect girl I could never have. Except now she's here. Mine, for now.
Energized, I work through half my load before lunch. By day's end, I've cleared everything and even started tomorrow's tasks.
Driving home, the sun low, I'm tired but restless. The moment I step inside, Ana greets me, flour on her clothes.
I set down my keys. She gives me the warmest smile. Handing off the case to Harper was worth it just for this. I loosen my tie, wishing I could just sweep her into my arms.
"Long day?" she asks, like it's routine.
"Something like that," I reply. She looks comfortable, at peace. But when she learns about my arrangement with Xander… will she choose him, or me?
"Let me change. I'll come back and help with the muffins." I fight the urge to sprint upstairs. Minutes later, I'm back with an apron on.
We fall into rhythm. Baking makes us look normal, and I like it. We brush past each other in the kitchen — not because it's small, but because we want to.
When the muffins are done, we make pasta. She stirs sauce, I toss salad. I wipe the counter, and she laughs softly.
"You really can't stand a mess, can you?"
"Order keeps life balanced," I answer. "Unlike your chaos."
Her grin widens. "Chaos is fun."
I freeze. Not all chaos is fun, but hers is. Somehow, my order needs her chaos. I want to tell her, but instead, I keep wiping.
Dinner and muffins follow. Delicious.
While cleaning up, she glances at me. I glance back. Every time our eyes lock, we just smile, silent but charged. I think back to this afternoon, how badly I wanted to see her. Now she's here, smiling at me like I'm the only one she trusts.
It makes me feel guilty. She doesn't remember. She doesn't even know we weren't dating before her accident. And I keep lying, making her believe she's always been mine.
We finish cleaning and head upstairs.
"Goodnight, Dylan," she says at her door.
"Goodnight, Ana," I reply, walking past.
---
Ana's POV
I wake to the smell of toast and eggs. Rubbing my eyes, I head to the kitchen. Dylan's not there. Where is he?
I'm about to turn back when I see it — a plate full of breakfast with a note beside it.
Sorry for leaving early. Eat. Don't skip. – D
My chest tightens. No one's ever cared enough to apologize for leaving early, let alone cook before work. Dylan, the man you are… Xander could never.
I sink into the chair, staring at the note. It's simple, but it overflows with care. Dylan plays this fake fiancé role with ease, better than Xander ever played the real thing. Am I reading too much into it? Or is it more?
I don't want to lose my mind, but I can't help it. I eat, still in disbelief. He said breakfast with me makes his day good. Even when he's gone, he makes sure mine is too.
After rinsing my plate, I retreat to my room, then drift to the library. Reading keeps me sane in this mansion.
I pick up a romance novel. Today feels like one. In the story, two old friends reconnect after years apart, realizing they'd both given up on love.
While Dylan and I never dated, we've known each other for years. Now, with my "amnesia" and his fake fiancé act, it feels like a second chance.
I don't know when I'll tell him the truth. For now, as long as he plays his part, I'll play mine. Our relationship hurts no one — Dylan had no girlfriend, and Xander practically threw me to him. The only one it'll hurt is Xander. Good. He'll regret betraying me.
Hours pass. By the time I finish the book, seven have gone by without a break. At least the ending was happy.
Hungry, I head to the kitchen, craving chocolate muffins. I lay out ingredients, then the door opens. Dylan. He sets his keys down. I give him the warmest smile I can. Memories of this morning's breakfast flood back.
He loosens his tie, but something lingers in his eyes — want. He looks at me like he craves more than this moment. I feel it too. One of us has to break the silence.
"Long day?" I ask.
"Something like that." His smile looks genuine, curious.
"Let me change. I'll come back and help," he says, then disappears upstairs. Minutes later, he's back, apron on.
We move together easily. Brushing past him is my excuse to touch him. After baking, we start dinner. While the pasta boils, I stir sauce, he makes salad. He wipes the counter.
"You really can't stand a mess, can you?" I laugh.
"Order keeps life balanced. Unlike your chaos."
"Chaos is fun," I grin.
He freezes, lost in thought.
Soon we eat. The muffins are heaven.
Cleaning up, our eyes keep meeting. Each time, neither of us looks away. I wonder: does he think about me like I think about him? When he made that breakfast, what was he really thinking?
Upstairs, I stop at my door. "Goodnight, Dylan."
"Goodnight, Ana."