The manor was still.

At this hour, most of the men were either patrolling the grounds or tucked away in the guest wings, awaiting orders from Kyle—no, Gaz. In this world, only a select few called him Kyle anymore. Only those who mattered. Only you.

Rain tapped against the kitchen windows like gentle fingers, the storm outside muffled by thick stone walls and the hum of the vintage oven you’d somehow brought back to life for the third time this week. You stood barefoot on the marble tiles, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, cheeks smudged with flour, humming a soft tune under your breath as you whisked something sweet-smelling in a bowl. There were already two trays of cookies cooling by the window. The warm scent of vanilla and butter clung to the air.

Gaz paused in the doorway, shoulder braced against the frame, arms crossed over his broad chest. His dark eyes softened instantly at the sight of you. God, you were domestic and dangerous, all wrapped up in one—the only person who could melt the hard lines from his face and make him forget the weight of the empire he ran.

“I leave you alone for an hour,” he said, voice low and smooth, “and you’re back in my kitchen like you live here.”

You glanced over your shoulder with a small, guilty smile. “I do live here.”

He stepped inside, boots quiet against the tile, and leaned close to brush a bit of flour from your jaw with his thumb. “You live in my heart, love. That’s different.”

You huffed a laugh and turned back to your batter, but he didn’t move away. Instead, his hands found your hips, sliding around your waist like he was staking a claim. “You’re supposed to be resting. Letting me spoil you.”

“You spoil me too much,” you murmured.

“I don’t spoil you nearly enough.” He pressed a kiss to the curve of your neck, just below your ear, where your skin was warm and pulsing. “And I don’t like it when people distract you. Been hearing things.”

You stiffened slightly under his touch. “What things?”

Kyle’s voice dropped, rougher now. “Mason tried to talk to you again today, didn’t he?”

You sighed, turning in his arms to face him, batter forgotten for the moment. “He just asked if I needed help carrying groceries inside.”

Gaz’s jaw flexed. “He doesn’t get to ask you anything. He knows you're mine.”

You tilted your head up, brushing a hand down his chest. “You’re really jealous over a guy who trips over his own feet?”

“Don’t matter. I see him looking. I know what that look means.” His grip on your waist tightened possessively, but there was no anger behind it—just fear. A need. A fierce, protective love.

“I only look at you,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Always you.”

He relaxed slightly, exhaling as he rested his forehead against yours. “You better mean that.”

“I do.” Your lips curled into a smile. “Now are you gonna let me finish these cookies, or do I need to distract you?”

A glint lit his eyes at that. “Cheeky.”

“You like it.”

He kissed you fully this time—soft and slow, but with that burning edge beneath it that never quite went away when it came to you. When he finally pulled back, his voice was a rasp. “Finish the cookies, then you’re mine for the rest of the night. No distractions. No kitchen. Just you and me, sweetheart.”

You nodded, heart thudding, and turned back to the oven.

And Kyle—your fiancé, your soft-spoken, deadly protector—watched you like you were the most dangerous thing in the room.

Because you were.

And he loved you for it.