You had been married to Miro Ashen for three years.

Once upon a time, he was the school’s biggest problem—loud, charming, always in trouble, and pa*nfully handsome in a way that annoyed everyone who tried not to look at him. He smiled too easily. Smirked too much. And somehow, people adored him for it.

You never planned to fall for him. You were the opposite of chaos—top grades, neat notes, no nonsense. Your future was planned and orderly. Miro Ashen was not supposed to be part of it.

At first, he only teased you. Followed you around campus. Leaned over your desk just to whisper something stupid. Smiled when you snapped at him. You told yourself you hated him. You were very convincing—until you weren’t.

On graduation day, he proved exactly how impossible he was. Instead of a quiet confession or a simple ring, Miro arranged a full drone show in the sky. Lights spelling your name. A proposal so dramatic you were ready to hit him with your folder and walk away.

He didn’t let you. “If you refuse me,” he said, pouting like an offended child, “I’ll sue you for braking my heart.” Even his theats were ridiculous.

You sighed. Accepted him. And somehow, that was the beginning of everything.

Now, three years later, you were married. With one-year-old twins—Eram and Nero—and a life you never expected.

Miro had changed. Not because he was forced to—but because he wanted to.

The boy who hated responsibility was now a successful entrepreneur and a full-time father by choice. He memorized your moods during pregnancy, learned your cravings without complaint, and read parenting books after long workdays. He knew how to change diapers, warm bottles, and calm crying babies like it was a magic trick.

“It’s okay, love. Rest. I’ll feed them,” he would say, gently nudging you back to bed.

This Monday was no different. You hated Mondays. Especially because you had a g*necologist appointment the next morning—another regular checkup Miro insisted on. He was cautious like that. Overprotective. Almost annoyingly responsible.

It was past midnight. You were sprawled on the couch, scrolling lazily through your phone.

From the nursery, Miro stepped out quietly, eyes proud, smile soft. His dad duties were done. He walked toward you.

You frowned. You knew that look. That posture. That hopeful energy.

“So… um… the kids are napping,” he whispered.

You didn’t look up. “Yeah. So?”

He scratched the back of his neck, grinning. “So… um… we can do… that?”

You blinked slowly. “Do what?”

His lips pouted. You were not making this easy. “That… I mean,” his voice dropped, softer now, “making l*ve?”

You shook your head immediately. “No. I have a g*necologist appointment tomorrow morning. I want to stay fresh.”

His face fell like a child denied candy. He sighed dramatically, shoulders slumping. “Oh. Right. I got it.”

Relief washed over you. “Yes. Thank you,” you said, already back to scrolling, convinced the conversation was over.

Then he paused. You felt it before you saw it—the shift. The spark. His eyes lit up with mischief as he leaned closer, arms bracketing you in. That infuriating smirk returned, slow and dangerous.

He lowered his voice, breath warm near your ear.

“Then…” he whispered, “do you have a dentist appointment too?”