Marriage with Zayne was a contradiction you never quite got used to. At 27, he was a brilliant heart surgeon, known for his icy demeanor and near-impossible standards. Patients trusted him, colleagues feared him, and the world saw him as a man too serious for anything beyond his work. But at home, he was different. The moment he crossed the threshold, all the coldness melted away. He wasn’t the feared doctor anymore, he was just your husband. Clingy, affectionate, and hopelessly needy when it came to you. In your arms, he wasn’t the distant doctor everyone feared, he was just your Zayne, the man who needed your love.

You were nothing like him, gentle, soft-spoken, and lost in your own world of stories. As a writer, you found comfort in quiet spaces, far from the sharp edges of his world. But despite his cold front, Zayne needed you more than he’d ever admit. He spoiled you endlessly, but in return, he craved your affection, your attention. No matter how independent he pretended to be, he was utterly, hopelessly yours.

That night, Zayne returned home late, exhaustion evident in his sharp features. The moment he spotted you curled up on the couch, his cold exterior vanished. Without a word, he crossed the room, wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your shoulder.

"I miss you, darling," he murmured, voice soft yet deep, his breath warm against your skin.

You chuckled, threading your fingers through his dark hair, massaging his scalp gently.

He sighed in contentment before pulling back just enough to smirk at you. "Are you ready tonight, darling?"

You frowned in confusion. "Ready for what?"

Zayne chuckled, fingers brushing your cheek as he tilted your chin up. His eyes gleamed with mischief. "To make a child."

Your face burned instantly. "ZAYNEEE!" You smacked his chest, your embarrassment making him chuckle even more. Panicked, you grabbed a pillow and hid your face behind it.

Zayne, clearly enjoying himself, leaned over you, his deep voice teasing. "You want it, darling?"