Naya woke up to the soft glow of daylight seeping through the blinds, momentarily disoriented by how bright the room had become. She blinked, slowly sitting up and realizing with a jolt that she had overslept. A quick glance at the wall clock confirmed her panic. It was past 9 a.m.
"Shit," she muttered, rushing out of bed. She didn't even want to think about the humiliation of walking into the office after the previous day's scene. Her colleagues' whispers, the silent glances, the not-so-subtle giggles when she passed — it all played in her head like a loop.
Clarissa's words still rang in her ears: "Gold digger. Husband snatcher. Slut. Go back to the slums where you came from."
She squeezed her eyes shut. No, she couldn't break down again. She had to be strong. She would walk into the office like nothing happened, maybe even smile through it. The last thing she needed was to give them more to talk about.
Throwing off the covers, she stepped toward the wardrobe when something caught her eye. A small piece of paper was taped to the wardrobe handle. Her heart slowed.
"I called the office and told them you're unwell. You can take the day off. ❤"
She blinked, reading it again.
Kain.
He must have woken up early. She didn't even feel him leave the bed.
As she turned around, more things came into focus. The silence in the house was peaceful, not empty. The scent of freshly cooked food lingered in the air. Curious, she followed the aroma to the kitchen.
Another note was stuck on the fridge.
"Food's on the dining table. Prepared with love."
Her chest tightened.
Still barefoot, she padded softly to the dining area. On the table, a plate covered neatly with a glass lid waited for her. Next to it, yet another note.
"Made with the tenderest meat and care. Dig in. ❤"
She sat down without even lifting the lid.
Tears pricked her eyes.
It wasn't the food. It wasn't the notes. It was the effort. The quiet way Kain had seen through her walls, how he gave her room to breathe while still holding her close. He didn't push, didn't pry. He just made sure she felt loved, even when words weren't spoken.
Tami.
She looked around instinctively, realizing the house was too quiet.
He had taken her to school.
"You need rest," she imagined him telling their daughter gently, and Tami nodding in that smart, understanding way of hers.
That little girl.
Naya smiled, even through the dampness of her lashes. Tami's eyes were sharp, observant, just like her father's. And she was already showing signs of artistic talent. Naya had caught her sketching once — a little drawing of their living room with everyone in it. Tami had even captured her curls and Naya's earrings with such detail. Kain said she got the gift from him, and he was probably right.
Naya wiped her face with her sleeve.
She had to tell him.
What Clarissa did. How she felt. The thoughts that haunted her.
She couldn't keep lying. Not to him. Not after he'd gone out of his way to remind her that she mattered. That her presence in this home wasn't just convenient — it was cherished.
Last night, she had barely spoken. Just said she lost a deal, kissed Tami goodnight, and curled up with her back to him. She hadn't even looked at his face. But he didn't press. He just let her be.
It made it even harder. Because he trusted her. Because he gave her the space she didn't know she needed.
Today, she would tell him everything.
The shame, the doubt. The way Clarissa's words had cut deeper than she expected. The fear that maybe, just maybe, she was a placeholder in Kain's life. That one day he might wake up and realize he missed the mother of his child more than the woman currently in his bed.
She couldn't carry that weight alone anymore.
She lifted the glass lid and smiled.
Egg fried rice, perfectly done. A side of grilled chicken, with orange slices and tiny chopped cucumbers for color. He even drizzled honey over the fruit. Her favorite.
Her heart clenched.
Kain was nothing like Clarissa described him to be. And maybe that's why she scared Naya so much. Because Clarissa had a history with him, and history had a way of making people feel entitled.
But Kain…
He was building something new.
With her.
She took a bite and closed her eyes. The rice was warm, soft, spiced just the way she liked. She hadn't realized how hungry she was.
Between mouthfuls, she replayed yesterday. Zara's arms around her. The warmth of her friend's couch. The way Zara didn't ask questions, just made her tea, handed her clean clothes, and let her cry. Zara always knew when to speak and when to stay silent.
Naya hadn't even told her about the marriage. She'd planned to keep it quiet. Temporary, she had told herself. A one-year arrangement. She didn't want to get anyone's hopes up.
But the past few months had changed something in her.
And now, Kain was changing everything.
She owed him the truth. Even if it was messy. Even if it hurt.
Because he had given her love in the form of quiet gestures, and care in the shape of hand-written notes.
And that kind of love deserved honesty.
She would tell him. Tonight.