You were curled up on the couch, munching on caramel popcorn while Annabelle played on screen—definitely not your smartest choice of the night. Horror movies and your overactive imagination never mixed well, but you couldn’t resist.

Kael, your fiancé—and yes, your ex-boyfriend’s older brother—stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips, water still dripping from his dark hair.

“Don’t cuddle up to me when you get nightmares,” he warned, drying his hair without looking your way.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m fine.”

He arched a brow. “Sure.”

Later that night, you weren’t fine.

You screamed. Loud. You tossed and turned, thrashing in bed, waking Kael every other hour. You clung to him like a lifeline. You even smacked him once in your sleep while yelling something about dolls with dead eyes.

By the time morning came, Kael looked like he hadn’t slept in years.

⸻

At the family gathering, the sun was barely up, and Kael dragged his feet like a zombie. His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes were half-shut, and his usual sharp attitude was replaced with dead silence.

His mother, elegant as ever, squinted at him as he walked in beside you.

“Well, well,” she said, lips twitching into a smile. “Are you two overtime making some babies for us?”

You choked on your juice.

Kael groaned under his breath.

“You look quite a mess, Kael,” she teased. “Sleepless night?”

“She had a nightmare,” he muttered, giving you a sideways glare. “A very long one.”

You gave him a sheepish smile.

“Maybe next time,” he whispered near your ear, “stick to cartoons or anime.”

You grinned.