My body is listening.
Later, under the hot water of the shower, steam blurs the tiles and my thoughts. That fullness is stronger now, not painful but present, like a part of me that’s been asleep is starting to stir.
When I step back into the bedroom, towel wrapped around me, I see him sitting on the edge of the bed, tablet in hand, glasses on, jaw set in full “COO mode.”
“You’re reading about it,” I tease.
“I’m studying,” he corrects, not looking up right away. “If I’m part of this, I’ll do it right.”
I come closer. “Medical journals?”
He finally meets my eyes. “Those. And other accounts. Couples who’ve done this. I want to know what you might feel before you do.”
Something thick and tender gathers in my chest. “You really want this?”
He locks the screen and sets the tablet aside. For once, it feels like the entire city falls away, leaving just the two of us and this one question.
“I want to build something with you,” he says.
The words land deeper than any confession I’ve ever heard. Build. It sounds so very Erik, steady, deliberate, and determined.
I cup his cheek, my thumb brushing the rough line of his stubble. “Then we’ll build.”
He exhales a quiet sound that feels like both surrender and a promise. Our foreheads touch. The knot of my towel becomes an afterthought. The scent of soap, his warmth, and the way his breathing softens as he leans into me, everything blurs into a single, wordless yes; neither of us speaks aloud.
Inside my chest, that tingling deepens, a responding echo. My body is listening. My heart already has.
Erik
I never realized how much discipline is required until now.
Every step of her induction protocol reads like a campaign plan: timelines, metrics, and projected outcomes, but this mission is made of trust instead of steel and numbers.
She adheres strictly to the regimen. I track her progress with the same intensity I give Halvorsen Corp’s quarterly reports.
Only this matters more.
I’ve quietly adjusted her diet: whole oats, fennel, rich soups she doesn’t have to think about, and more water than she’d drink on her own. She rolls her eyes and calls me a "dictator nutritionist." She doesn’t know I’m up at 2 AM, reading hormone studies and logging reported side effects before she’s awake.
I’ve seen what exploitation looks like. In boardrooms, SableCorp attempted to utilize Bjorn's wife's body and pain as leverage. I want to do everything possible to protect Claire from that.
While she sleeps, I tighten the perimeter:
• New firewall on her store system
• Encrypted backups
• Motion sensors tied directly to my phone
• Flags on any Veritek-style signature within three blocks of her shop
On the surface, we look like any other couple walking down a Houston sidewalk. I gently place my hand behind her back. Her laughter rises easily into the night air.
But beneath that? I am always calculating. Always aware of exits. Shadows. Reflections in glass. Protection is instinct for me. Strategy is a habit.
And yet none of that is what shakes me.
Her body unconsciously aligns with mine as she leans into my side during dinner. The fenugreek leaves a subtle hint of maple in her hair. Her shy pride is evident when she lightly presses her palm over her chest and whispers, “I think it’s working.”
