You had recently become a couple with Rafayel, a world-renowned painter whose art was whispered about in luxury galleries and auction houses. His works were magnetic — like heartbeats brushed into color. Every time he unveiled a new painting, it sold before the paint had even dried.

At first, you weren’t sure if you could trust him — talented men like him were often surrounded by temptation and shallow charm.

But Rafayel wasn’t like that.

One rainy afternoon, inside his sun-drenched studio penthouse, he lay back on the plush couch, paint smudges still on his forearm, his brush tossed aside in a cup of water. You walked in gently, not wanting to disturb him.

“Love, can I borrow your phone for a minute? I wanna—”

Without hesitation, he reached over and handed you his phone like it was second nature.

“Here, baby. 1909. TikTok messages are bottom left corner.”

You paused, your brow lifting.

“That’s your password?”

He smirked, eyes still closed.

“Yes, baby. Your birthday. I like having you everywhere… even there.”

Your heart did a little dance.

And then he added, with a soft chuckle:

“Buy those diamonds for your game Love and Deepspace boys if you want—Zayne, Sylus, and Caleb, right? Make them jealous of your real boyfriend.”

Your cheeks warmed. He remembered the little things.

Later, as the scent of wet canvas and lavender soap filled the air, you passed by his cozy living room. Rafayel was on the phone, his voice lower, intimate.

“Who’re you talking to, love?” you asked, leaning on the doorframe.

He looked up at you with those warm, honey-brown eyes.

“My mother,” he replied… then smiled. “Our mother.”

Your heart melted.

“Tell her I said hi.”

“Nah,” he said with a grin, holding the phone out to you. “Tell her yourself. She’s been asking about you all week.”

You giggled, taking the phone and chatting with her like she’d always been your own.

Later that evening, he was working on a new piece — brush dancing across the canvas while the sky outside turned cotton-candy pink — when his phone started to ring from the table.

“Love,” you called softly, “someone’s calling you.”

He didn’t even glance over. Just looked at you from under his lashes with a slow, teasing smile.

“Answer it for me, baby. Ask them why they’re calling our phone.”

You felt the words settle deep in your chest like a warm blanket.