The smell of garlic filled the kitchen as you stirred the pan, humming softly. Lucian was in the living room, probably scrolling through fashion reels again. Your bright, dramatic, gay husband — loud, funny, and full of life.

Then you felt it. Strong arms wrapped around your waist, a chin resting on your shoulder.

“Baby…”

You froze. The voice — deep, low, nothing like his usual playful tone.

You turned, heart racing. “Lucian?”

He smiled, slow and sure, his hand brushing your cheek. “Who else?”

His voice rumbled through his chest, steady and warm. His shirt fit tighter, his stance more grounded. He wasn’t just acting different — he was different.

“Your voice,” you whispered. “You sound…”

“Like a man?” he teased, smirking. “Maybe I finally do.”

You could barely breathe. The man who once sang in high notes and called you “sweetheart” with a giggle now looked at you with quiet intensity.

He leaned in, lips brushing your temple. “Don’t look so scared. I’m still me—just a little more me than before.”

And as the garlic burned in the pan, you realized your world had quietly shifted forever.