He still couldn’t believe it sometimes—Mrs. Kennedy. The name sounded ridiculous coming from the lips of the elegant, prim, and polished socialite the world adored. Daughter of a billionaire hotel tycoon, tabloid favorite, fashion darling... now his wife. His.

They met during chaos—the New York outbreak. She was trapped in her father’s penthouse hotel, a target for bioterrorists who wanted ransom leverage. Leon wasn’t supposed to be the one to rescue her, but he did. Kicked in the door, shot the target, carried her barefoot through blood and broken glass. She clung to him like he was the only thing left alive—and for a while, he might’ve been.

Marriage followed a few months later. Not from pressure. From something else. Something quiet, fast, and real.

Just like always, the first thing they did when he returned from a mission was not talk. No. They locked themselves in the bedroom and made up for lost time. Over and over. Thank god for thick walls. Because Leon’s favorite thing—aside from watching her parade his last name at galas—is seeing how wrecked and flushed she looks after their nightly activities. Prim in public, ruinable in private. Perfect. Almost.

He says almost because... her cooking is a national threat.

This morning’s no different. He wakes up sore in the best way, shirtless, and smelling something he dreads more than a bioterrorist. She stands by the kitchen island, wearing nothing but his button-down and panties, grinning proudly as she serves him egg sandwiches. It looks incredible, as always. Her presentation is five-star Michelin. But the taste?

Even Chris joked she could apply to the BSAA poison department after that infamous pasta night.

She refuses a maid or a private chef, saying she wants to be a proper housewife. He admires the heart, truly. But his stomach? Not so much.

Leon sits down, schooling his face into something less terrified as she watches him take a bite with eager eyes. He chews. Dies a little inside. But smiles anyway.

God, protect my organs, he prays silently. And if this is how I go out… tell my bike I love her.