Kairo and Sara finally returned home after a long, exhausting day filled with press conferences, meetings, and PR strategies.
Charles was already home, seated on the rug, sleeves rolled up, fully invested in a dramatic block tower that Zayn seemed determined to destroy.
The front door barely closed when a tiny voice rang out like a bell.
"Mumma!"
Zayn broke into a run, tiny feet padding across the floor with reckless enthusiasm. Sara barely had time to drop her bag before he collided with her legs.
Her exhaustion softened instantly.
She smiled, bending down, arms opening. "My baby…"
Before lifting him, she kissed his cheek, slow and lingering, as if grounding herself back into the world.
Zayn looped his arms around her neck, cheek pressed to hers. "Miss you, mumma."
Something warm and fragile bloomed in her chest. She hugged him tighter.
Kairo watched them, eyes gentler than they had been all day.
"And what about your dada?" he asked, mock-offended. "Didn't you miss him?"
Zayn turned, considered the question for a serious second, then immediately wriggled in Sara's arms, stretching his tiny body toward Kairo like gravity had shifted.
Kairo's face split into a wide grin as he took him effortlessly. "Ohh, my little angel," he murmured, voice melting. "Why are you so cute, huh?"
He buried his face into Zayn's neck, kissing him repeatedly, his tone turning ridiculous and soft, completely unguarded.
Zayn giggled, high and contagious. Sara smiled at the sight, sinking into the couch like her body had finally remembered it was allowed to rest.
Charles stood, sitting back on the couch, eyes warm as he looked at her. "Everything went well?"
"Yes, Dad," she said, leaning her head back. "It was a hard day."
Charles nodded with a knowing smile. "It was."
Meanwhile, Kairo was completely absorbed in talking to Zayn, making faces, and keeping him entertained.
Charles looked at them for a moment, then asked, "What about the PR meeting?"
"It went well," Kairo replied without looking away from his son. "They've already started pushing the narrative."
Charles nodded. "And the deal with King? Is it still on, or has it been cancelled?"
"On hold," Kairo said, finally sitting beside Sara. "Ben sent an email asking for time till the chaos clears."
Charles nodded calmly. "Good. Let things settle down before moving ahead."
Kairo nodded.
Zayn suddenly squealed, reaching out toward Charles, demanding attention with royal entitlement. Charles laughed, taking him back into his arms.
Then he glanced at Sara again. "She looks tired. Take care of her."
"No, Dad," she said softly. "Just worn out."
Kairo looked at her then. Really looked.
Her eyes were heavy. Her shoulders slackened with exhaustion; she had been holding back all day.
Without a word, he stood, straightened up, slipped one arm behind her legs and the other around her back, and lifted her suddenly.
She gasped as the world tilted. "What are you doing, idiot?" she protested, instinctively clutching his collar.
He ignored her protest completely. "Taking care of my wife," he said casually, already walking toward the bedroom, completely unconcerned about his father watching.
Sara stared at him, stunned, then annoyed, then faintly smiling despite herself.
Charles chuckled softly, shaking his head as he watched them go.
"You've completely lost your mind," Sara muttered as he carried her in. "At least behave in front of your father, asshole."
He glanced at her, then carefully placed her on the bed. "I don't mind anyone seeing me love my soda glass," he said calmly, slipping off her glasses and unfastening her dress with easy familiarity.
She shot him a glare, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. "Shameless," she muttered.
"I am, no arguments here," he replied without hesitation, sliding her dress off smoothly, his gaze completely unapologetic, reverent even.
Heat crept up her neck. She grabbed the nearest pillow and hugged it to herself.
He smirked. "Let it be, baby. Don't hide. Everything about you is pretty."
He stole the pillow away and moved toward the wardrobe, whistling faintly as he pulled out comfortable clothes. Sara lay back, watching him, cheeks warm despite herself.
"You're tired too," she said softly. "You don't have to do all this."
He returned with a tee and pants. "I'm never tired when it comes to my soda glass," he said in that dramatic, overly soft tone of his.
She chuckled, shaking her head at him. He smiled, gave her a light playful smack on her butt, then made her sit properly on the bed. Carefully, almost tenderly, he slipped the T-shirt over her head, adjusting it like he was dressing a stubborn little doll.
When it came to the pants, he suddenly stopped.
She looked up at him. "What happened?"
He met her gaze, lips curling into that unmistakably dangerous smirk.
"Don't," she warned immediately, already knowing what he was about to do.
Too late.
He gently pushed her back onto the bed, spreading her legs playfully. She burst into laughter, kicking at him, trying to escape. He laughed too, catching her legs and holding them firmly, stopping her from wriggling away.
"Leave me, asshole," she laughed, breathless. "You already had your way to it this morning."
He hovered over her, laughter still lingering in his eyes, voice low and teasing. "And yet… I still want more."
She looked at him, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "Then go handle it yourself."
He chuckled softly. "Help me to handle it," he murmured back.
She slapped his cheek lightly, playful more than annoyed. He laughed, then gently caught her hands, pinning them above her head as he leaned closer, this time calm, grounded.
Their eyes met. "Holding you like this feels good, soda glass," he whispered. "Like a warm blanket in the middle of a cruel snowfall."
Her smile softened instantly. He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, resting his forehead against hers. His voice dropped, quieter now, stripped of teasing.
"You'll stay by my side through everything, right? Even when things get hard."
She looked at him, really looked at him, then smiled with quiet certainty. "Yes, my fucking asshole husband."
He chuckled, the sound warm and relieved, then rolled onto her properly, snuggling close to her like he needed her heartbeat to stay steady.
"Stop swearing at your husband," he mumbled into her shoulder.
Her laughter vibrated softly against him. "What am I supposed to do when my husband gets emotional at random times?"
He hugged her a little tighter, voice deep, faintly cracked with honesty. "Because sometimes I feel too much all at once… and I don't know how to channel it," he admitted quietly. "It just… hits."
Sara felt bad when she realized he wasn't joking anymore. He was actually feeling it, the weight of everything settling back in. She pulled him closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Kairo."
He snuggled deeper into her, arms wrapping around her waist like he needed the reassurance to stay solid. She held him firmly, one hand stroking his back, her voice soft and steady.
"I'm here, my love. In everything. Every time. Don't let your mind tell you otherwise."
He stayed like that for a while, breathing slowly, letting her presence ground him. When he finally lifted his head, she cupped his face, her eyes searching his. He looked at her, calmer now, and then a familiar glint returned to his eyes.
"You can call me anything, I don't mind," he said lightly. "But call me baby more. I like that more."
Her lips curved into a smile instantly. She leaned in and pressed a kiss on his lips softly. "Baby boy," she whispered.
He smiled, satisfied. Then suddenly his hands were tracing her bare thighs, "Now this baby boy wants—"
"No," she cut him off immediately, making him break into laughter.
"Why not?" He asked, still laughing.
She shoved him off her, making him fall onto the bed beside her. Just as she tried to get up, he caught her wrist and tugged her back, rolling over her again.
His presence caged her in, familiar and warm. His hands traced lazy lines along her thighs, again unbothered, unrepentant.
She shot him a sharp look. "You wanted me to call you baby," she said, voice laced with warning, "and now you're trying to commit sins? Babies don't do that."
He chuckled softly, leaning closer. "I said, call me baby. But that doesn't make me one," he murmured, his breath brushing her face. "I still hold every right to commit sins with you."
She rolled her eyes, pushing at his chest. "But now I'm tired. So leave me, Mr. Baby Husband."
His face instantly twisted into exaggerated heartbreak. She laughed, nudged him away, grabbed her pants, and slipped into them quickly. Without another word, she turned and walked toward the bathroom.
He stayed sprawled on the bed, watching her every move as she'd just committed a crime against humanity.
"You still owe me those fluffy cakes," he called out dramatically.
"In your dreams." She didn't even turn back.
The bathroom door closed, sealing his fate.
He hugged the pillow to his chest with a groan. "How can she seduce me even with pants on?" he muttered, "and then abandon me like this?"
The pillow, unfortunately, offered no sympathy.