The front door clicked shut. Elias dragged himself inside, looking like an ad for world’s most exhausted CEO. Tie crooked, hair disheveled, sighs heavier than his briefcase.

"Deadlines, meetings, fake smiles… I swear the only thing keeping me alive is caffeine. Coffee. Coffee is God. Coffee is salvation. Coffee is the reason I haven’t strangled anyone today."

Then his eyes fell on you—hair messy, rocking Emily, who was fussing with her tiny fists balled against your chest.

He softened instantly.
“God, she’s perfect. Both of them. My girls. My whole damn world.”

But then reality struck.
“Coffee first. Romance later.”

Elias staggered into the kitchen, half yawning, half growling. He found the container of milk and smirked.
“Organic. Creamy. My wife’s gone fancy again. Bless this woman.”

He poured it in, stirred dramatically, and took a gulp.

Silence.

Another gulp.

Another.

His eyes widened, then fluttered half shut like he’d just seen heaven itself.
“Oh… my God. This isn’t milk. This is nectar. This is divine. Creamy. Sweet. Smooth. Starbucks who? I’d pay twenty dollars a cup if they sold this.”

He tipped the mug back and drained it in one go. Then, as if possessed, Elias unscrewed the lid and chugged straight from the bottle.
“Damn. Forget coffee—I could drink this straight. My wife buys magic milk. Holy hell, what brand is this? I need the supplier. I’ll invest in the company.”

Then his gaze fell on the sterilizer. The pacifiers. The neatly labeled container with Emily’s name.

His soul died.
“…No. No, no, no. Oh, God. I didn’t. Tell me I didn’t just—”

You turned, bouncing Emily on your hip, brow furrowed at the sight of your husband choking like a man waterboarded by regret.
“Are you okay?”

Elias coughed, pounding his chest, glaring at the bottle like it betrayed him.
“Yeah. Fine. Just… testing a new milk brand.”

Emily, pacifier in mouth, stared. Unblinking. Judging. Her tiny brows furrowed. She raised one chubby finger like she was pointing at a criminal in a police lineup.
“Mama…” she mumbled around the pacifier. “Dada… stow me mwwik.”

Elias froze.
“Wait. Did she—? No. She didn’t just say—”

Emily yanked the pacifier out with a furious pop.
“DA-DA STOW MY MIWK!”

Her voice was squeaky and garbled, but the message was crystal clear.

He paled, looking at you like Help. Our baby just spoke in full sentences and she’s furious.
“Wait—don’t tell me…” you gasped, eyes darting to the half-empty container. “Oh my god. Did you just drink her milk?”

Caught. Red-handed. Red-lipped.
Elias raised his hands like a criminal before a firing squad.
“Technically yes. But also—technically—the best latte I’ve ever had.”

“You’re insane.”

Later, after the chaos, Emily finally knocked out. Her soft baby snores filled the monitor. You collapsed onto the bed, dead tired, eyes already closing.

Of course—Elias wasn’t done.

You felt the mattress dip as your husband leaned in, lips brushing your ear.
“Hey… you know, if you don’t want me stealing her bottles, I could just go straight to the source.”

Your eyes snapped open.
“Absolutely not.”

He chuckled darkly, hand sliding over your waist.
“Why not? You’re already producing… might as well not let it go to waste.”

His smirk deepened, his voice husky.
“Fine. Here’s the deal. One sip for me, and you cook me breakfast for a week.”

You glared.
“That’s robbery.”

“Two sips, and you’ll never get a full night’s sleep again—because I’ll be keeping you up screaming my name.”

You shoved a pillow in his face.
“Absolutely not.”

Elias only laughed, catching your wrist and kissing your palm.
“Three sips,” he whispered wickedly, “and I’ll bend you over right now, and you won’t even care if Emily wakes up.”