Page 35

O kay, so I really don’t like going to bed without my husband.

And I like it even less when I wake up without him.

The bed feels colder than it should, emptier than it ever has before.

I shake off the lingering sleep and head to the shower, letting the warm water wash away the fog from my mind.

After I get dressed— simple, comfortable, a soft dress with flats —I pause when something catches my eye on the floor.

Not your usual outdoor dust.

No. It’s more like potting soil, dark and clumpy with little white balls.

Curiosity pulls me toward the closet, and there I find them— Balor’s shoes, the soles smeared with dirt.

My brow furrows.

What the hell does that mean?

But there’s no time to puzzle it out.

I’m never a morning person, especially when I don’t have to be anywhere early.

My schedule lately swings between long days in the office and nights spent at photoshoots or galas— social whirlwinds where makeup artists work their magic, and I play the role expected of me.

Sleep is sacred.

But still, it’s later than normal for a Friday morning.

I assume I missed Balor, and it kind of makes me sad.

So imagine my surprise when I walk into the kitchen to find my sexy-as-fuck husband standing there, sleeves rolled up, the light catching the faint glint of tattoos on his forearms.

He’s sipping coffee, the rich aroma filling the room.

“Morning, Angel,” he says softly, walking towards me and brushing a kiss along the side of my mouth.

I nod, too stunned to speak.

“Coffee?” he offers.

I can only manage a quiet, grateful nod.

And just like that, the morning feels a little warmer, a little more like home. He moves with grace and ease, confident as he prepares my coffee exactly how I like it.

I would have liked it anyway just because he made it.

He hands me a steaming mug, watching me over the rim of his own cup like I’m the most fascinating thing in the world.

That look— God, that look —it never fails to make my knees a little weak.

“Why do you look so surprised?”

“I, um, didn’t think you’d be home. I mean, it’s late,” I reply nervously.

“You didn’t think I’d let you go alone, Angel?” he says, his voice smooth but firm.

I blink. “Oh, well, I just didn’t think you were interested in a, uh, photoshoot.”

His jaw ticks, but not in anger— more like frustration that I could ever doubt him.

“Lucy,” he says, stepping close, so close the heat from his body wraps around me like a second skin.

I blink up at him, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might tear right through my ribcage.

“I’m interested in everything you do,” he says, voice low and certain. “And I’m here for you. I want you to know that I support you, Angel.”

My voice is barely more than a whisper.

“You do?”

He nods, slow and fierce, his gaze never wavering.

That single movement is like a key turning in a lock I didn’t even know I’d been waiting to open.

“Damn straight I do,” he continues, stepping closer so I can feel the heat radiating off him.

The look on his face as he raises one hand to touch my cheek with his inked up fingers is so tender, I tremble in the wake of it.

“Look, I don’t know if you know this, Mrs. Cruz, but I’m kind of obsessed with you.”

His words hit me like a physical blow. But a welcomed one.

“You are?”

My chest tightens so badly it’s hard to breathe.

He reaches out with his other hand, gripping my waist tightly, while those maddening fingers of his ghost down my cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear.

“Obsessed. Unhinged. Fuck, Lucy, don’t you know how much I love you?”

“I—what? You love me?” I gasp, tears spilling free now, hot and real.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, pressing his lips to mine in the softest, most electrifying kiss I’ve ever felt.

When he pulls back, his eyes are shining with everything I’ve ever wanted to see there— devotion, hunger, promise.

“I love you, Angel. So fucking much. And yeah, I’m going with you.

I want to be the one standing beside you always,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion.

“Not just when it’s easy. Not just when it’s public.

But all the fucking time. And when it’s you in the spotlight?

I’m gonna be there. You’re not alone, Diamond Girl. Not anymore. Never again.”

My knees go weak, and I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his chest.

His heartbeat is steady, a drum I’ve memorized over endless nights—each thump a reminder that this man is real, that we are real.

And as I let his words soak into every raw, trembling part of me, I realize that for the first time, I believe it’s possible.

That maybe this thing we’re building— this marriage, this love, this chaotic, all-consuming connection —isn’t fragile.

Maybe it’s the most solid, grounded thing I’ve ever known.

Maybe Balor really is my forever.

And just like that, I know.

My heart is his.

Maybe it always was.

I stare up at him, my fingers curled tight around the breadth of his shoulders, drinking him in— those mismatched eyes full of promise, that rare smile meant only for me.

I don’t say it aloud, but I feel it all the same, humming through my veins, sinking into my bones like truth.

Thank you for choosing me.

“I love you, too,” I whisper, voice shaking but sure.

His breath hitches. Something fierce flares behind his eyes.

“You have no idea how fucking much I love hearing you say that,” he rasps, brushing his knuckles down my cheek with reverent care.

I smile, watery and real. “I think I do, Husband.”

His eyes darken with something hotter— possessive, hungry, dominant .

My breath catches.

“Next time, I’m gonna make you scream it, Wife.”

A promise. A vow.

“I would now, but the car’s here. And we’ve got an appointment to keep.”

I glance toward the window where I see the sleek black town car waiting at the curb, engine running, professional and punctual.

“Guess we have to do this,” I murmur, my face stretched in a smile so wide it nearly aches.

He grins, cocky and unrepentant. “Guess so, Mrs. Cruz. But when we get back,” he pauses.

Then, he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, voice dropping an octave. “I’m gonna make good on that promise.”

“Yeah?”

“Damn right I will.”

I believe him. With everything in me, I believe him.

And I can’t fucking wait.