“Morning, wife. Did you sleep well?” I ask, my voice low and teasing as I watch her shift beneath the sheets.

She glances at me, rolling her eyes. “No, I didn’t.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is it the mattress?” I press down on it, then run my fingers across the covers. “The pillow? The bed itself?”

She mutters something under her breath, barely loud enough for me to hear. “More like the one in the bed.”

I smirk, recognizing the defense mechanism at play. “That’s your defense mechanism speaking, but that’s fine. I can wait.”

“Wait for what?” she asks, her voice sharp, but the curiosity in it doesn’t escape me.

“For the day you become my wife again.”

Her response is swift, her tone cold. “I was never your wife, Kirill.”

I chuckle darkly, leaning back on my elbows. “Yes, you are. You said ‘I do’ and took my cock like a very good wife that same night. Besides, I have a marriage certificate to prove it.”

Her eyes narrow, and she glares at me, but I can see the small crack in her resolve. “That doesn’t count since we’re getting a divorce.”

“Until then,” I counter smoothly, “you’re still my wife.”

She lifts her chin, defiance burning in her gaze. “Reluctantly.”

“Legally,” I reply, a grin stretching across my face as I let the weight of the word hang in the air.

“Temporarily,” she shoots back, but I can see the faintest flicker of something else in her eyes, something softer.

“Currently,” I say, my grin widening as I lean closer, savoring the tension.