𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑼𝑫𝑫𝑬𝑵 𝑪𝑳𝑰𝑪𝑲 𝑶𝑭 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒐𝒓 𝒋𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒌𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒅. Instinctively, my hand shot beneath the pillow, fingers curling around the cold metal of my pistol. I pointed it toward the shadow in the doorway, my heart pounding as adrenaline surged through me.
The dim light from the hallway illuminated the figure—Valentino. His hands were raised in mock surrender, a tray of food balanced precariously in one hand, the faint aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted vegetables wafting through the air.
"I'm unarmed," he said, his voice calm yet tinged with caution. Despite his usual confidence, his movements were measured. His tailored suit from earlier, slightly wrinkled, hinted at a long day. Yet his golden eyes, framed by the black rim of his glasses, held an unexpected softness—a rare vulnerability that flickered beneath the usual intensity of his gaze.
I exhaled sharply, lowering the pistol. The familiar weight of it felt heavier in my hand as I clicked the safety back on and tucked it beneath the pillow. My head thudded back against the mattress as a yawn escaped me, my hand brushing through my disheveled hair. The room around me was bathed in the dusky glow of evening, shadows stretching long and thin across the floor. The faint hum of the city beyond the windows was muted, distant, almost soothing.
"What time is it?" I asked, my voice rough with the lingering haze of sleep as I pushed myself up slightly, squinting toward the figure entering the room.
"Six," he replied, his tone even, stepping fully into the room. The faint evening light framed him, his polished shoes gliding almost silently across the worn wooden floor. "In the evening," he added, arching an eyebrow as he set a silver tray down on the small bedside table with deliberate care.
"Well..." I yawned, stretching lazily. "Aren't you home early?"
A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt. "I have a wife waiting for me at home," he said smoothly, his voice tinged with sarcasm but not devoid of affection. "He makes it rather... compelling to return early."
"Da," I murmured in Russian, a teasing smile playing on my lips. [yes]
He exhaled a quiet chuckle before his expression softened, his gaze dropping to the slight swell of my stomach. "Besides, Rowan, you might not be hungry," he said gently, "but I won't let you starve my daughter."
