A week passed in a blur of sketches, fabric swatches, and long nights at Bella's little desk by the window. The house had quietly settled into a rhythm that felt strangely natural—Rachel bouncing between school, play, and sneaking curious peeks at her mother's designs, while Lucas disappeared into endless meetings. He rarely got enough time to speak with Bella. By the time he returned, she was either asleep or bent over her work, lost in the world of patterns and ideas. And he—though restless to bridge the silence—never had the heart to disturb her in either.
At last, she sent her draft on the final day of the deadline. Relief washed over her, followed by the quiet decision to take a step back and give her time to her family.
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The next morning arrived in a hush, sunlight streaming through sheer curtains and striping the polished floor in long strokes of gold. The house carried that rare stillness that only early hours could hold—quiet, but brimming with the promise of movement.
Somewhere down the hallway, Rachel's little voice drifted out, her words tumbling into the half-melody of a song she didn't quite know. Yet she sang with the fearless confidence only children possessed.
Lucas adjusted the cuffs of his crisp white shirt, sliding the last button into place. He paused in front of the mirror, tugging his tie into a knot—then loosening it again with an impatient sigh. He rarely dressed down; every detail of his appearance was usually precise, immaculate, a mask of control. But today, he wanted something different. He let the top buttons of his collar fall open, lines softening, his reflection unfamiliar but not unwelcome.
That was when he heard it—the faint hum floating from the kitchen. Her hum.
A sound Bella probably didn't even realize she made, a little thread of music when she thought no one was listening. He had discovered it only days ago, purely by accident, and since then it lingered in his mind like a secret.
His feet carried him down the hallway before he consciously decided to move, each step silent on the polished floor. And then he saw her.
Bella stood at the counter, hair spilling loose down her back in soft waves. The pale summer dress she wore clung lightly to her frame, shifting when she bent to reach into a drawer. She wasn't trying, and that was precisely what undid him. No makeup, no effort to draw attention—she simply existed, and yet the sight of her set something inside him taut and restless.
His jaw tightened as he dragged his gaze away, forcing it toward Rachel, perched at the table with her cereal bowl. The little girl kicked her legs cheerfully, humming between spoonfuls, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing a few feet away.
Lucas cleared his throat, slipping into the room with his usual calm. But his eyes betrayed him, finding Bella again.
She turned at the sound, startled when she nearly brushed against him as he passed. For a heartbeat, she froze, her breath catching as their eyes locked. Hers widened slightly, unprepared for the nearness. His, dark and unreadable, carried a weight she couldn't name.
"Good morning," she murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Morning," he returned, his voice pitched lower than intended. He looked away toward the cupboards, as though searching for distraction.
Rachel garbled something through a mouthful of cereal, pulling both their attentions back. Bella chuckled under her breath, the tension loosening in her shoulders as she reached for a jar on the top shelf. She stretched up, standing on her toes, fingertips grazing the edge but not quite catching it.
Lucas didn't think—he simply moved. His hand slid around her waist, steadying her with a firm, protective touch. His other arm reached easily for the jar above her. Their bodies brushed in the narrow space, his heat closing around her like a wall.
Bella stilled, her breath locking in her chest. Through the thin cotton of her dress, his palm felt impossibly warm, grounding, possessive in a way that both startled and unsettled her. His cologne—clean, understated—wrapped around her senses, too close, too intoxicating.
He retrieved the jar with casual ease, placing it into her hands as if nothing unusual had happened. But Bella couldn't move. Not yet.
Her gaze betrayed her, flickering upward—and instantly regretting it. The hollow of his throat lay exposed where his collar hung open, the subtle shift of his Adam's apple drawing her eyes downward. She noticed the line of his neck, the faint shadow of stubble, the nearness of his chest. Heat curled in her stomach, sharp and unfamiliar.
Her fingers almost fumbled the jar, clutching it tighter before it slipped.
"Careful," Lucas murmured, voice like velvet brushing against her skin. His lips curved faintly—not quite a smile, but an acknowledgment.
Bella jerked back a step, eager for distance. Her cheeks flamed as she busied herself with the jar, feigning focus as though the glass container demanded her full attention.
Rachel's small voice shattered the taut silence. "Dada, can I have more milk?"
Lucas turned instantly, ruffling her hair with a gentleness that contrasted with the intensity Bella had just felt. She exhaled quietly, her heart tugging at the sight, though she looked away before he noticed.
The rest of breakfast passed with light chatter, but Bella couldn't shake the restless hum beneath her skin. Every glance, every brush of movement replayed in her head as if her body refused to forget.
When Lucas left for the office and Rachel for the school, silence finally claimed the house.
At first, Bella welcomed it. She tidied the dishes, straightened cushions, folded the blanket Rachel had left behind. Normally, such mundane tasks calmed her. But today, her mind wandered, circling back to places she didn't want it to go.
By the time she slid the last plate into place, her chest felt tight. She sat heavily at the kitchen table, folding her arms on the surface, exhaling a long, shaky breath.
What was wrong with her?
Lucas wasn't hers—not really. Yes, they were married, but not in the way little girls dreamed of. It was an arrangement, a circumstance. She had reminded herself of that countless times.
And yet…
Every time he was near, something inside her shifted. The air thickened, charged. Her pulse quickened, her cheeks warmed, her breath tangled in her chest. She hated it. She hated noticing things she shouldn't—the way his forearms looked when he rolled his sleeves, the softened timbre of his voice when he spoke to her, the way his eyes lingered a second too long.
It wasn't love. It couldn't be. Love was foreign, a language she'd never tried to learn. She had no time for it, no reason to. But whatever this was—it was dangerous.
Her palm pressed over her heart, willing it to steady. She thought of Rachel, of the fragile life she had stitched together with stubborn hands. She couldn't afford to unravel it all because of a man who made her forget herself with a single touch.
And yet, her body remembered—the steadiness of his hand at her waist, the quiet promise it carried. Protective. Grounding. As though she was something worth holding.
She shook her head sharply and rose. No. She wouldn't think like that. She couldn't.
But as she moved about the house, the thoughts followed her like a shadow.
By the time Lucas returned that evening, the first thing he noticed was Bella's silence.
She wasn't waiting for him with her usual faint smile. She was curled into the corner of the sofa, a book lying open in her lap, though her eyes hadn't touched the words in a long time. The last of the sunlight spilled through the windows, painting her in amber and gold. Stray strands of hair fell across her face, softening her expression, making her look delicate… and far away.
He paused in the doorway, watching her as though she were a painting left unfinished—beautiful, but incomplete. It stirred something restless inside him.
His footsteps finally caught her attention. Bella blinked, lifting her gaze to him as if surfacing from somewhere deep.
"Where's Rachel?" His voice was low, rougher than he intended.
Bella tucked the book aside. "In her room. Doing homework." Her tone was casual, but thin, like glass stretched too close to breaking.
Lucas didn't answer right away. He studied her—the curve of her mouth, the restless way her fingers twisted into the cushion. She was avoiding his eyes. That much was clear. And he wanted to know why.
He crossed the room and lowered himself onto the opposite end of the sofa. Not too close, not too far. Enough for her to feel him there.
"You're quiet today," he said softly. "Didn't talk much this morning. Didn't call me once." His eyes stayed fixed on her, sharp but softened at the edges. "Something on your mind?"
Bella's lips parted, then closed. She shook her head, gaze dropping to her hands. "No. Just… tired."
Lucas tilted his head, unconvinced. "Tired doesn't look like this." His words slipped out more intimate than he intended, hanging between them like a secret.
Her eyes flicked up—just once—and instantly wished they hadn't. His gaze pinned her, warm and unyielding, as though he could see the storm she had been hiding all day.
"I said I'm fine," she whispered. But it sounded less like reassurance and more like defense.
His mouth curved faintly, not quite a smile. "If you were fine, you wouldn't be strangling that cushion like it owes you money."
She blinked, realizing her grip, and released it quickly, flustered. "You notice too much."
"Only when it comes to you."
The air thickened. Bella's breath stuttered, her pulse misbehaving. She wanted to stand, to put distance between them, but her body betrayed her, rooted to the spot.
Lucas leaned forward just slightly, voice dropping lower. "You can tell me, Bella. Whatever it is."
For a moment, she nearly did. Nearly confessed the truth of her day—the haunting memory of his touch, the way her body betrayed her every time he came close, the terrifying possibility that she wanted more. But the words knotted inside her, refusing to break free.
She shook her head instead, softer now. "It's nothing."
He studied her for a long moment, jaw flexing as though weighing silence against truth. Then, finally, he leaned back, granting her the distance she seemed to crave.
But his eyes never left her.
"If it ever stops being nothing… you'll tell me," he said. It wasn't a question.
Bella swallowed hard, nodding faintly. She wasn't sure if she was convincing him, or herself.