I woke before Kaelen did. The light was soft, gold-tinged, spilling lazily across the sheets. He was still asleep beside me, his arm draped over the edge of the bed, the other on my waist, with the faintest crease between his brows — even in rest, his mind never stopped moving.
I watched him for a while, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the shadow of exhaustion still etched beneath his eyes. He hadn't really slept since the explosion. Every time I closed mine, I could still see him pacing, taking calls, hovering near me as if I'd vanish if he looked away too long.
I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could, easing his arm off my waist. Kaelen stirred, murmured something incoherent, then settled again, the lines on his forehead softening.
The floor was cold beneath my feet as I tiptoed toward the door, heart thudding for no reason other than the absurd fear of waking him. The penthouse was still, dim, the early morning light barely brushing the edges of the furniture. For once, the city outside wasn't roaring — it was only a faint hum, like the world had paused to give us this one moment of peace.
I padded down the hall toward the kitchen. The faint clatter of metal greeted me — Flora was already up, arranging breakfast trays for the medical team. When she saw me, she froze mid-motion, eyes widening.
"Miss Elara," she whispered, setting down a cup. "You should be resting—"
"I know," I said, smiling softly. "But I want to make breakfast. For Kaelen."
Her brows arched in surprise — and then, warmth. "Oh. Well, that's different."
She glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting Kaelen to appear and order me back to bed. When he didn't, she exhaled and nodded. "Alright. But slowly. The doctor said no strain."
"I promise," I murmured, stepping toward the counter.
She smiled again, "I'll get the medical team here, to be on standby."
The scent of freshly ground coffee and sunlight through glass. The quiet hiss of the stove as I turned the knob. It had been a long time since I'd done something so simple — stirring eggs, slicing bread, the mundane rhythm of it almost foreign.
"Flora," I turned to her and said gently. "How does he like his eggs??"
Her lips twitched. "He likes it runny. But I'm sure he'll like whatever you make him, Miss Elara."
"Then that's how today's eggs will be."
The smell of butter filled the air, golden and warm. And for the first time in days — maybe weeks — I felt human again.
It was then when I heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind me.
"Elara?"
His voice — rough with sleep — sent a jolt through me. I turned, a little guilty, like I'd been caught sneaking out past curfew.
He stood in the doorway, shirt rumpled, hair still mussed from sleep. For once, the CEO mask was gone — he just looked like Kaelen. Human. Tired. Mine.
"You're supposed to be resting," he said, coming closer, eyes narrowing slightly when he saw the pan in my hand.
"I am," I said lightly. "Just horizontally less."
Flora stifled a laugh behind me. Kaelen exhaled, resigned, then reached out to steady me by the waist as I set the plate down.
"Sit," he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. "You could've just asked Flora."
"I wanted to," I said quietly. "After everything… it feels good to do something normal."
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The city hummed below, sunlight spilling across the marble floor, the smell of breakfast curling through the air. He finally leaned down, pressing a kiss to my temple.
"Then I'll eat," he said softly, "but only if you promise to rest after."
I smiled. "Deal."
As we sat at the table, Flora reappeared from the kitchen with a glass of cold milk. "Miss Elara, would you-"
Before she could finish, Kaelen looked up, "I believe it should be Mrs Vancourt now, Flora."
Flora startled, nearly spilling the milk. "Oh—! Mr. Vancourt, I—of course, sir."
Kaelen's lips curved faintly. "No need to look so terrified, Flora. I'm only correcting the title."
I glanced over at Kaelen, "Don't startle her, Mr Vancourt."
Flora gave a flustered nod and quickly excused herself, mumbling something about checking on the kitchen staff.
When the door swung shut behind her, silence settled again — gentle, golden, wrapped in the soft hum of the morning. Kaelen was still smiling faintly, his fingers tracing idle circles on the rim of his coffee cup.
"Mrs. Vancourt," he said again under his breath, as though testing how it sounded — and this time, when I looked up, the teasing was gone. It was quiet reverence.
I reached across the table, brushing my thumb over his knuckles. "You're going to wear that title out before noon."
"Not possible," he murmured. "I've waited too long to say it."
My chest tightened — not painfully, but in that full, tender way love sometimes hurts. I wanted to stay in this moment, to pretend the rest of the world didn't exist. Just us, the morning light, the quiet miracle of peace after chaos.
But the illusion didn't last.
The television on the far wall flickered to life — someone from the security team must've turned it on remotely. The sound was low at first, just a murmur beneath the clink of silverware. But then the words Island Residence cut through the air like a blade.
Kaelen's head lifted immediately. I turned toward the screen.
The news anchor's voice was calm, practiced, but the scrolling ticker told a different story: Authorities confirm that 1 of the heavily injured from the explosion at the Island Residence construction site has succumbed to his injuries.
Aerial footage from that day filled the screen — smoke, twisted scaffolding, emergency crews swarming the scene.
My stomach twisted.
"Turn it off," Kaelen said quietly. One of the security staff outside must've heard him, because the screen went dark a second later.
But the silence that followed wasn't comforting anymore. It pressed heavy between us.
"Charles…" I murmured. "He's still handling it."
Kaelen nodded, jaw tight. "He'll keep things contained. He's done this before."
"I know," I said softly, though my fingers tightened around the edge of my cup. "But still."
He reached out, covered my hand with his. "He told me to let him handle the chaos for a day. That wasn't just for me, Elara. He meant it for you too."
I looked at him — the steadiness in his eyes, the warmth that never quite left even when the world fell apart around him — and forced a small smile.
"Then we'll trust him," I said. "But Kaelen, watch over my father for me, please."
Kaelen leaned back, his thumb brushing over my wedding ring. "He's my father too."
Outside, the city began to stir again — sirens faint in the distance, the pulse of normal life resuming. But inside the penthouse, we stayed a little longer in that fragile, borrowed calm, holding on to the one thing the world hadn't yet managed to take.
By evening, the light had cooled — no longer the soft gold of morning, but a muted silver slipping through the tall glass windows. The scent of coffee had long faded, replaced by quiet, sterile calm. The medical team came and went in discreet rotations, and for most of the day, Kaelen had managed to keep work at bay.
But peace, as always, had an expiration.
When the elevator chimed, I knew before the doors opened that it was Charles. The air shifted — something in Kaelen straightened, his stillness sharpening.
Charles stepped out, coat draped over one arm, the exhaustion in his expression carefully buried beneath control. He looked between the two of us — Kaelen at the dining table with the reports he wasn't supposed to be reading, and me with a blanket over my lap, pretending not to notice.
"Elara, dear," he greeted first, his tone softening. "You look better."
"I feel better," I replied, and though it wasn't entirely true, I wanted it to be.
He nodded once, then turned his attention to Kaelen. "We need to talk."
Kaelen rose immediately, but before he could lead Charles to the study, Charles waved him down. "Here's fine."
He placed a thin folder on the table. Inside were printed reports, site photographs, names. Even from where I sat, I could see the black stamps marking confidential.
"The investigation team believes the explosion wasn't mechanical failure," Charles said, voice even, but edged with fatigue. "They've ruled out gas leaks and wiring issues. Which means—"
"It was deliberate," Kaelen finished. His jaw tightened, the word coming out like a quiet curse.
Charles didn't contradict him. "The city's already pressing for statements. I've stalled them for now — told them both our companies are cooperating fully with the authorities. But if we don't get ahead of this, the damage will spread fast."
Kaelen's hand came up, pressing against his temple. "I'll have Vancourt's internal audit reopen all material and contractor approvals. Someone knew how to get in. Someone with access."
Charles nodded, sliding one of the photos toward him. "I thought you'd say that. Here — this was taken two days before the blast. The permit list for the restricted zones was updated that morning."
Kaelen's eyes flicked over the page. I leaned forward slightly — not enough to draw attention, but enough to see the corner of a name before he turned the sheet.
A name I recognized.
Not from this life, but the one before it.
The room receded, just for a moment. The faint murmur of the medical machines, the hum of the evening air, Kaelen and Charles's voices — all of it blurred under the rush of memory.
Uncle, Chloe had called him once. The man who always lingered in the background, quiet, smiling too easily.