I sit at the table in silence, watching him from the corner of my eye. Rion moves around my kitchen like he's lived here for years—smooth, confident, precise. His sleeves are rolled up, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he chops vegetables, stirs the pot, tastes the broth.
Why… why does he act like this?
Why does he feel like a different person than the man I've known until now?
And why does his presence make something inside me settle… like my body recognizes him even when my mind refuses?
The soup's aroma fills the room—warm, rich, comforting. My empty stomach twists in hunger, betraying me. Rion glances back. Instantly, I snap my eyes away, pretending I'm deeply fascinated by the dining table.
"I know you're looking at me, kitten," he says, voice low, amused. "Come here."
I blink. "What?"
"Come. Try this."
Slowly, hesitantly, I stand and walk to him. He blows softly on the spoon, lifts it to my lips. I taste it.
My eyes widen.
God—delicious.
