Zayne was exactly where you thought he’d be—propped up against the headboard, glasses low on his nose, deep in some medical book you couldn’t even pronounce. He looked so calm, so focused, flipping pages like he didn’t just make your heart skip with how serious he looked.

But you had something that was going to blow all that focus straight out the window.

You burst into the room, clutching the big black portfolio to your chest like it was a bomb—because in a way, it was.

“Zayne!” you said, maybe a little too loud.

His head shot up, blinking at you like he’d just been yanked out of a different dimension.

You climbed onto the bed without waiting for a response, practically tossing the portfolio into his lap and scooting in close beside him.

“Here. Don’t ask. Just open it.”

He looked confused, a little wary, but curious as always. “What is this?”

“Just open it,” you repeated, heart thudding in your chest. You couldn’t believe you were actually doing this.

You watched him flip the cover open—

And then he froze.

His eyes locked on the first photo: you, lying back in soft lighting, wearing barely-there lace and a look meant only for him. You watched the way his fingers hesitated, the way his lips parted just slightly.

He flipped to the next. Then another. Slowly. Like each image was too much to take in all at once.

“You did this… for me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, heat rushing to your face but refusing to look away. “All in secret. Took forever to plan. You like it?”

He finally turned to you—really turned to you—and the look in his eyes nearly melted every nerve in your body.

“… you’re breathtaking.”

The portfolio slipped from his hands onto the blankets. His book was already forgotten. And when he reached for you, it was quite.. possessive.