The house settled into its evening rhythm once Lucas left. Bella moved through the motions of routine, the kind that gave her comfort. She woke Rachel gently from her nap, helped her wash her sleepy face, and coaxed her to the dinner table with playful threats about finishing her vegetables. The kitchen filled with the smell of garlic and warm spices, the kind of homely scent Bella always found grounding.
Rachel sat perched on her chair, swinging her legs as she chattered endlessly while Bella stirred the pot.
"Mama, today I'm the princess again, but tomorrow I'm the boss. Then Daddy can be the worker, and you can be the fairy. Fairies work for bosses, right?"
Bella laughed, shaking her head. "That's not how it works, silly girl."
"Then Daddy works for me!" Rachel declared with glee, grinning wide enough to show her missing tooth.
Bella didn't argue. She just smiled, though something in her chest tightened. Maybe Rachel wasn't entirely wrong.
---
Across the city, Lucas sat in his office. The contrast couldn't have been sharper. Here, the air was thick with power and tension. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed a ruthless skyline, but his attention stayed locked on the long table where his executives sat with their files open.
"…projected budget expansion for the next quarter."
"…partnership with the Singapore branch."
"…risk management and security allocations."
Their voices blended into the measured rhythm of business, but Lucas listened to every detail, silent at first, his hands steepled beneath his chin. When one man hesitated over numbers, Lucas leaned forward, his presence instantly heavier.
"If you can't justify those numbers," he said, voice calm but sharp as a blade, "don't bring them to me."
The man stiffened, nodding quickly, scribbling frantic notes. Authority lingered in the room like static—here, Lucas wasn't the teasing "Dada" who let a little girl steal his fries. Here, he was a man no one dared cross.
His phone buzzed on the table. He rarely allowed interruptions, but when he saw the name on the screen, something in him eased. Raising a hand, he halted the discussion. "Five minutes."
When he answered, a familiar little voice spilled through the line.
"Dadaaa! Mama is saying a spicy ice cream is possible. But it's not! Ice cream is cold. Spicy things are hot! Mama is tricking me!"
Lucas blinked, then chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Spicy ice cream?"
In the background, Bella's exasperated voice carried through. "It is possible! Don't you dare side with her, Lucas. Dada will bring it and prove it to you."
Rachel gasped, scandalized. "Nooo, Dada! Don't! She's tricking you too!"
The laugh that escaped him was unguarded, startling even to himself. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the weight of the meeting slip from his shoulders. "Alright, girls. I'll… try."
And before Bella could reply, he hung up, mask sliding seamlessly back into place as he returned to the table.
---
By the time the lock clicked softly at home, Bella had abandoned the pretense of reading on the sofa. The book lay unopened on her lap, her restless fingers drumming against the cover. She had been waiting—for the ice cream, of course, but also for him.
Lucas stepped inside, his shoulders still edged with the sharp lines of the business world. But the moment his eyes found hers, something in him softened. In his hand was a familiar tub.
Bella squinted at the label. "Vanilla?"
"Your favorite." He set it on the coffee table and tugged at his tie as if it had been strangling him all night. His voice was smooth, but there was a trace of apology in it. "The so-called spicy one doesn't exist. Not in any form that wouldn't burn a hole through you. I checked."
Her lips parted, eyes narrowing with mock offense. "So you came back empty-handed?"
Lucas's mouth curved into a half-smile. "I came back with something you can actually eat."
Bella folded her arms dramatically, glaring at the tub. "I asked for spicy. This is not spicy."
Lucas leaned a little closer and casually sat beside her on the sofa, though there was nothing casual in the way his eyes studied her. The faint pout on her lips, the stubborn tilt of her chin—ridiculous, over ice cream, yet utterly intoxicating.
"Bella," he said quietly, voice dipping lower, "do you ever listen when someone tells you no?"
Her chin lifted, a spark of defiance in her gaze. "Not when it comes to ice cream."
She snatched the spoon, digging in with mock determination, but his eyes didn't leave her as she lifted the bite to her lips. She held his gaze deliberately, slow and teasing as she slipped the spoon past her mouth.
Lucas's jaw flexed, his amusement mingling with something darker. "Not spicy, huh?" His voice came out rougher than he meant it to.
She swallowed with exaggerated care, then shook her head. "Not even close."
The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was thick, electric, like the moment just before a storm breaks. Bella meant to look away, but his gaze held hers, steady and unyielding, until her pulse fluttered against her throat.
Lucas moved before he thought better of it. His fingers brushed hers as he plucked the spoon from her hand, the lightest touch yet enough to make her breath hitch. He dipped it into the tub, then, instead of feeding her, tilted forward and drew the spoon gently across her lower lip, leaving behind a smear of vanilla.
Her eyes widened, lips parting in shock. "Lucas!" The protest came out half a laugh, half a gasp.
But it died almost instantly—because his gaze had dropped to her mouth, and the sharp, controlled man she thought she knew was nowhere to be seen. His hands moved to take the tub from her hand and set it on the table, still maintaining eye contact.
For a beat, neither of them moved. Bella's heart raced, her instinct screaming to push him away, to tell him this was a line they shouldn't cross… again. But her body betrayed her—she didn't lean back. She stayed. And that was all the permission he needed.
Lucas bent in, his lips brushing hers lightly at first—just a test, a warning. The faint sweetness of vanilla lingered between them. Then, when she sighed, giving herself away, he pressed in harder, claiming her mouth with a hunger that startled them both. The kiss wasn't like last night's hesitant brush. This time, it was inevitable.
Bella's fingers, meant to shove at his chest, curled into his shirt instead, anchoring herself against the dizzying rush. Heat spread through her veins, quick and consuming, melting the cool taste of ice cream into something dangerously addictive. Dangerous, her mind whispered. This is dangerous. But nothing had ever felt so right.
He kissed her deeper, tongue sliding against hers, coaxing her into a rhythm she hadn't realized she craved until now. When her breath caught, he slowed deliberately, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, both of them breathing fast.
"Spicy enough for you?" he murmured, his voice ragged, still brushing her lips.
Her lashes fluttered open, eyes dazed, lips tingling. "That was… messy."
His mouth curved, though his eyes burned with an intensity he didn't bother to hide. "Messy," he echoed, thumb tracing her flushed cheek. "That's what makes it good."
Bella buried her face in her hands, groaning. "You're impossible."
He caught her wrists gently, tugging her hands down so he could see her face. His mouth brushed hers once more—softer, lingering. "And you," he murmured, voice low, "are addictive."
Her chest tightened. She didn't dare ask what he meant. Instead, she fumbled for the tub, muttering weakly, "We're making a mess of the couch."
Lucas leaned back, gaze still locked on her. "Some messes are worth making."
The silence stretched, charged but steadying. Then, gently, Lucas asked, "You know… if you don't want me to kiss you, you can stop me however you want. But do you think we're fine with this… arrangement?"
The sincerity in his tone eased something inside her. A faint smile touched her lips. "We're fine."
His smile was slower, more dangerous. "Good. Because I was starving on the way back, and if you haven't made dinner, I'll just have to steal more of your lips."
Bella flushed, shoving his shoulder with mock irritation. "Stop it. I've already made dinner."
---
Later, in the kitchen, Lucas reheated the meal Bella had made earlier, ignoring her half-hearted protests.
"You really don't have to," she said, leaning against the counter, arms folded.
"I want to," he countered simply, sliding a plate toward her once it was warm. "Besides, you cooked it—I'm just reheating it."
Bella rolled her eyes but sat down anyway, twirling pasta onto her fork. "You're stubborn."
"And yet here I am, making sure you don't go to bed hungry."
She arched a brow. "I already ate with Rachel."
He smirked as he sat across from her. "Mm. After living with you this long, I know what that means. You probably had two bites and called it dinner."
Caught, Bella lifted her fork with feigned innocence. "Maybe."
Lucas's gaze softened, though his tone stayed teasing. "So I was right. Good thing I'm here to keep you in check."
"Keep me in check?" She snorted, stealing a bite from his plate when he looked away.
He gave her a mock glare. "Bella, you're going to make me starve."
She laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Please. You'd still look like you walked out of a magazine even if you ate pasta at midnight every day."
His brow lifted, slow and amused. "Was that a compliment?"
Her cheeks warmed. "Don't get used to it."
Dinner was simple, comfortable—more than food. It was the kind of easy intimacy that felt like it had always belonged in their evenings.
By the time the dishes were rinsed and the lights dimmed, the house had settled into a quiet hum. Rachel was fast asleep, the faint sound of her steady breathing drifting from her room.
In the bedroom, Bella slipped beneath the covers, her body tired but her mind still spinning from the evening. Lucas joined her a few minutes later, the mattress dipping under his weight.
They didn't speak much. They didn't need to.
Bella turned onto her side, facing him across the small stretch of pillow. Their eyes met in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, a silent acknowledgement passing between them.
It wasn't love—not yet. But it was something. Something she didn't want to run from anymore.
And as Bella finally closed her eyes, her last thought before sleep was that maybe, just maybe, this dangerous, messy closeness was exactly where she wanted to be.