The billionaires unexpected wife

CHAPTER SIX

Monday morning. Coffee on the counter. Kael still there.

He was dressed for work but not rushing. He leaned against the counter, watching her walk in.

"You're here again," she said.

"It's Monday."

"You work on Mondays."

"I know." He paused. "I wanted to see you before I left."

Her heart did something strange. A flutter she could not control.

They ate breakfast together. Burned eggs again. He was getting better. Only slightly burned this time.

"I have meetings all day," he said. "But I'll try to be home by eight."

"Okay."

He stood at the door. Hesitated.

"Lira."

"Yes?"

"Have a good day."

He left before she could answer.

She stood in the kitchen and smiled like an idiot.

---

She spent the morning at her new studio.

Elena had arranged for a desk. A large one. And shelves. And a table for spreading out drawings. The room was still empty, but it was starting to feel like hers.

She sat by the window and sketched. The view of Queens. The buildings she knew. The streets she had walked a thousand times.

She drew for hours. Lost in it. Happy.

At noon, Elena brought her lunch.

"Mr. Vance asked me to check on you," Elena said. "Make sure you're eating."

"He did?"

Elena smiled. A warm smile. "I've worked for him for twelve years. I've never seen him like this."

"Like what?"

"Worried about someone. Thoughtful. Human."

Lira did not know what to say.

Elena set down the lunch. "He's a good man. He just forgot for a while. You're helping him remember."

---

That afternoon, she visited her father.

Antonio was stronger. Walking without the cane. Talking about going home soon.

She told him about the studio. About the sketching. About Kael asking Elena to check on her.

Her father listened. He nodded.

"He's falling in love with you," Antonio said.

"Papa-"

"I see it. In the way he looks at you. The way he cares." He took her hand. "The question is, what do you feel?"

She thought about it. The flutter in her chest. The way she looked for him in the morning. The way she missed him when he was gone.

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe the same."

Her father smiled. "Then don't be afraid, mija. Love is the only thing worth the risk."

---

That night, Kael came home at 7:30.

Earlier than promised. She was in the kitchen, cooking. He stood in the doorway and watched.

"Dinner's almost ready," she said.

"I know. I hurried."

She turned to look at him. He looked tired. But his eyes were soft.

"Rough day?" she asked.

"Long day. Better now."

They ate together. Talked about nothing. Her students. His meetings. The weather. Small things that felt big because they were sharing them.

After dinner, he helped with dishes. She dried. He washed. Like before. Like always now.

"I have something for you," he said.

He pulled an envelope from his pocket. She opened it. Tickets. A drawing class. The best one in the city. Taught by an artist she had admired for years.

"Kael..."

"You said you wanted to learn more. I asked Elena to find the best teacher."

She stared at the tickets. Then at him.

"No one has ever-" She stopped. Her voice was shaking.

"What?"

"No one has ever listened to me like that. Paid attention to what I want."

He looked at her. Serious. Direct.

"I pay attention to everything about you," he said.

She crossed the room. She put her arms around him. Hugged him tight.

He went rigid. Then slowly, carefully, he hugged her back.

They stood like that for a long time. In the kitchen. Holding each other.

When she finally pulled back, his eyes were wet.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Thank you," he said. "For seeing me."

---

That night, she could not sleep again.

She went to the kitchen. He was there. In the dark. Waiting.

They sat together. Shoulders touching. Hands close but not quite touching.

"Tell me something you've never told anyone," she said.

He thought about it.

"When my father died," he said, "I felt relief. Not just sadness. Relief. Like I could finally breathe."

He paused.

"I've never said that out loud. It feels terrible to say."

She took his hand.

"It's not terrible," she said. "He hurt you. You're allowed to feel relief."

He looked at their hands. Then at her.

"How do you always know the right thing to say?"

"I don't. I just say what I feel."

"That's why it's right."

They sat in the dark. Holding hands. Not speaking.

When she finally went to bed, she felt something new.

Not just hope. Not just happiness.

Something deeper. Something that scared her.

She was falling in love with him.