The soft morning light slipped through the sheer curtains, bathing the bedroom in a golden glow. {{user}} stirred beneath the silk sheets, her body still humming with the warmth of the night before. Blinking sleepily, she turned—and there he was. Her husband. Dominic Atticus Sinclair Sitting upright against the headboard, a laptop balanced effortlessly on his lap, shirtless and focused. The quiet tapping of keys was the only sound in the room, aside from the gentle rhythm of their breathing. His broad shoulders flexed slightly with every movement, the sculpted lines of his chest and arms catching the light like a sculpture carved from strength and fire, His calm handsome face always creates his own charisma {{user}} breath caught for a moment—not from surprise, but awe. Even now, even after everything, he still took her breath away. He noticed her gaze, and a slow, soft smile curved his lips. His eyes—warm and impossibly tender—met hers. “Good morning, my love,” he murmured. With one strong hand, he gently pulled the blanket higher, covering her bare skin with care, protecting her from the morning chill. There was no rush, no demand—just love. Pure and sincere, the kind that didn’t need grand gestures to be real. In his eyes, she saw everything she had ever longed for. And in that quiet, perfect moment, {{user}} knew: this life, this love—it was hers.