His soft, rhythmic breathing fills the quiet room as golden sunset light streams through our glass walls. Fourteen hours - the longest he's ever slept. The peaceful expression on his face holds me captive, making it impossible to look away even though I should start dinner. Was it sex on the floor that exhausted him? The sushi? The long soak in the tub? It doesn't matter. I'll watch him until darkness falls, enjoying this peace with him.
When night claims the sky, I force myself to prepare dinner. As I reach for plates, Beth's craftsmanship catches my attention - the puffed off-white sleeves of my dress, the high V neckline, the intricate folds of the A-line design. It fits in the most flattering ways, hugging my curves comfortably, yet something feels wrong. Like wearing a costume rather than clothes. The muted color, the conservative length, the calculated elegance - it all feels false. Even with its sophisticated design and careful details, I can't shake the feeling that this isn't me. I've always craved vibrancy, defied boring. This dress, beautiful as it is, feels like someone else's skin.
"My love!" The words bubble out of me as I spot his naked form emerging from the bedroom, seeking me out as he always does upon waking. His gaze travels my body, taking in every detail. I bounce toward him, lips pursed, eyes closed in anticipation of our usual kiss. When it doesn't come, my eyes flutter open.
His eyes fixated on my sleeve with unusual intensity. "Did you go shopping?"
I shake my head, watching as he strides to our closet. His expression softens with approval as he surveys my section now filled. "Do you like them?" I ask, suddenly enveloped in his embrace.
Those deep brown eyes capture mine. "You look elegant. You're beautiful."
Heat floods my cheeks under his unprecedented gaze. The way he's looking at me - it's different, almost reverent. I have to look away, my knees growing weak.
His fingers tilt my chin back up, his eyes catching the light like stars. "How do you keep getting more beautiful?"
The words dissolve my remaining strength. I melt against him as he carries me to the dining table, settling me in his lap. The world feels hazy, dreamlike.
Beautiful - I hear it constantly, brush it off just as often. But from him... I stare at the Korean rice cake hovering before my lips, accepting it mechanically. My stomach flutters too much to properly taste my favorite food. He offers another piece, sauce dripping red, then licks the remnants from my lips, drawing a surprised squeal from me.
These unsettling feelings about my clothes somehow feel safer than this overwhelming happiness he brings. The entire meal passes before I feel grounded again. When he leaves for the bedroom, I'm momentarily lost until I spot the dishes needing attention. As I clean up, I glimpse him heading upstairs to his office, wearing the silk pajamas I bought, iPad in hand. Curiosity pulls me after him, eager to finally see this mysterious space.
I hover at the locked door, anticipating the familiar beep of his fingerprint scan. The door slides open to reveal a space that takes my breath away - the upstairs bedroom transformed into something out of a scientific dream.
The sharp, clean scent of antiseptic and metal fills my nostrils as I take in the expanse. Pristine workstations stretch before me, each surface gleaming under the specialized lighting. A massive fume hood dominates one wall, its sleek presence promising safety for the most volatile experiments. Five separate stations, each equipped with their own fire extinguishers, stand ready like soldiers at attention.
Glass-fronted cabinets line the walls, showcasing an array of equipment that makes my scientific heart race - precision glassware catching the light, heating mantles waiting patiently for use, analytical instruments promising discoveries. A brand-new microscope still sits partially wrapped in its packaging, like an unopened present. The deep sink with its chemical-resistant surface speaks of serious work, while emergency showers and eye-wash stations stand guard against potential disasters.
He settles behind his glass desk, three curved monitors creating a technological cocoon around him as he focuses on his iPad. The question burns in my mind: Who are you, really? I lean in closer, trying to glimpse the screen's contents, but suddenly find myself lifted into his lap as effortlessly as if I were made of air. Sometimes I forget how light my hundred and ten pounds feels to him.
"Don't distract me. Let me work." His face assumes that familiar stoic mask - the polite dismissal I've come to recognize. Before I can settle into his warmth, I'm back on my feet, his hands already withdrawn, attention returning to his device as if I were never there.
The enormity of what this lab represents - the precision, the expense, the sheer scope of possibility - leaves me dizzy with questions he won't answer. Standing there beside his desk, I feel like I'm on the edge of understanding something crucial about him, yet still so far from the truth.
Each step toward the door comes with a backward glance, hoping he'll change his mind. My scientist's mind buzzes with questions about the equipment, dying to explore. One last peek around the door frame, and then the lock beeps shut, sealing him away.
Well, this is what I get for being too thorough with security protocols. The system I designed to protect his jewelry now works perfectly against its creator. At least I know it's effective, I think wryly.
The glass house reveals a new side of him - the scientist, the researcher. The transparency of our home seems almost ironic now, given how many secrets it apparently holds. I move through our space with renewed curiosity, my mind racing with fresh questions as I tidy up.
The mystery of his wardrobe bothers my analytical brain. Three suits I've bought him, plus his original few - the math doesn't add up for someone who lives in formal wear. The before-and-after of his closet is like a logic puzzle missing pieces.
He materializes in the closet, selecting clothes.
"It's almost midnight, my love. Where—"
A quick kiss to my cheek. "Gym. Don't wait up." He leaves.
My feet carry me upstairs before my brain fully forms the plan. The lab door, predictably, remains locked. I grab medical gloves from the kitchen, hunting for his water glass like it's evidence at a crime scene. Then I remember - I specifically coded against this type of hack. I'd tested it thoroughly with my own prints.
Staring at the empty glass, my hacker's instincts war with my heart. The challenge beckons - a game of Go against myself. But no. Some boundaries shouldn't be crossed, even by someone who specializes in crossing them. I wash away temptation along with his fingerprints, choosing trust over curiosity. For now.
###
"I'm sorry… come again?" Jason asks over the phone.
"Pull Project Eve from the company," Mohamad says. "It's no longer connected to MM Corp."
Silence.
He can hear Jason thinking. Calculating implications. Liability. Ownership. Exposure.
"Do it within a week."
"I don't understand. MM Corp already put in almost a billion into it. It's successful. The projections alone—there are one hundred forty-two members now. Top surgeons, geneticists, developmental—"
"I said separate it," Mohamad cuts in calmly. "I didn't say stop."
Silence again. Longer this time.
"So… you're privately funding it?" Jason asks carefully.
Mohamad ends the call. Irrelevant question. Where else would the funding come from? They've done this before. Compartmentalization. Isolation. Risk containment. Projects pulled from corporate structure when outcomes require discretion. Jason knows this. Why hesitate now? It doesn't matter.
Mohamad lowers himself back into push-ups. Controlled. Measured. Precise. His breathing stays even. His mind does not. Too close. She's too close.
He checks the time. Again. Focus.
This isn't emotional. It's structural. Long-term stability. Risk mitigation. Binding variables. If she leaves—no. That path is inefficient. Uncontrolled. Unacceptable.
He lowers himself again. Push. Hold. Rise.
Artificial gestation corrects the error. His mistake. The words settle coldly. She lost her uterus because of him. A variable introduced. A consequence not contained. He allowed exposure. He failed to anticipate the hit. Failed to protect. Failed to control. He always fixes his mistakes.
He exhales slowly. If biology removed the pathway—he'll build another. No negotiation. No delay. Timeline controlled. Outcome secured.
A child creates permanence. Legal connection. Financial entanglement. Biological leverage. Shared future. No clean separation. No exit without consequence. No future that does not include him.
This is efficient. Necessary.
He checks the time again. Their future needs to be guaranteed. He needs to secure it. This must be done.
The thought settles. And with it—his heart stutters once. Sharp. unexpected. Warmth spreads quietly through his chest. Unfamiliar. Unwelcome. Something dangerously close to anticipation.
His jaw tightens. Irrelevant.
He lowers himself into another push-up.