The ride home that night was quiet, at least for me.

Val talked the whole way, about how good the food was, how her dad actually smiled, how maybe things were finally turning around.

I heard her voice but not the words.

All I could think about was one thing, how the hell did Charlie know I was part of the infrastructure bid team?

I'd told Val. I tell her everything. We always have.

So if Charlie knew, it had to be from one of their talks, probably a casual mention, nothing more. She wouldn't have realized it mattered.

Still, thinking back to how his tone had shifted — polite and charming over dinner, then cold the second we were alone in his study — I could tell. He'd fished it out of her on purpose.

And now, sitting behind the wheel, her laughter beside me felt like static. She was still glowing from the evening, completely unaware that the father who had just smiled at her had practically threatened her husband an hour ago.

When we pulled into the driveway, her happiness didn't fade.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to me, that soft grin still there. "See? I told you it wouldn't be that bad."

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile. "You did."

Inside, the house was dimly lit. Aline had probably already turned in for the night; the faint glow from down the hall suggested her room light was still on. Dinner sat neatly on the table — plated, precise, untouched. She must've prepared it earlier, assuming we'd come home hungry.

No sign of Duchess either. Lately, she'd taken to sleeping in Aline's room instead of ours, which was ironic, considering she was supposed to be our cat. But then again, Duchess had always been a little too good at deciding who deserved her attention.

Val kicked off her heels near the door, humming as she headed upstairs. "I'm going to finish up that report before bed," she called out.

I watched her go. For a moment, I thought about telling her — about what Charlie said in that study, about the way he looked at me like I was a problem he could solve.

But she still looked happy. Too happy.

So I told myself it could wait.

Just for tonight.

---

By the time I joined her upstairs, she was already at the desk in our room, typing something on her laptop. Her hair was tied up, glasses on, a soft light from the desk lamp outlining her face.

She looked so focused, so... her.

I sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through my phone but not really seeing anything. My mind kept replaying his words.

You're family now, aren't you? Why not be useful for once?"

The sound of her laptop closing pulled me out of it. She stretched, let out a quiet sigh, and walked over, slipping under the blanket beside me.

"So husband," she said, voice light, teasing almost. "What did you guys talk about?"

"Uh?" I blinked, turning my head toward her.

She smiled, that same bright, genuine smile that used to make everything else feel small.

> "You and my dad. What did you two talk about?"

I hesitated. "You know… the usual."

She tilted her head. "The usual? That's it?"

"Yeah."

She laughed softly, then squinted at me. "You're lying."

I looked at her — really looked. The glow from her skin, the faint excitement that still lingered in her eyes.

I should've just let it go.

But I couldn't.

"Do you…" I paused, searching for the right words. "Do you trust your dad?"

She blinked, caught off guard. "What kind of question is that?"

"I mean—" I exhaled. "Do you tell him everything? About us, about me?"

Her brows drew together. "Kai, he's my father. We talk. Sometimes about work, sometimes about you. Is that… a problem?"

"I didn't say it was," I said quietly.

> "Then what are you saying?"

I ran a hand over my face. "Nothing. Forget it."

"No." She sat up a little, her tone gentle but steady. "You don't just ask me something like that and then say 'forget it.'"

Her eyes searched mine, soft but intent. "What's going on?"

I met her gaze, trying to find a way to say it without saying it.

"He just seemed to... know a lot tonight. About things I didn't think you'd told him."

She frowned. "Like what?"

"Like the infrastructure bid."

"Oh." She shifted slightly. "I might've... mentioned that. Why?"

"Why?" I repeated, then shook my head. "Val, that's not exactly small talk material. He's your dad, and he's—"

"—in the same industry," she cut in. "He asked about your work, Kai. I wasn't going to lie to him."

"I didn't say you should lie."

"Then what?" she asked softly, confusion flickering in her eyes. "Because it sounds like you think I did something wrong."

I sighed. "I just wish you'd think before telling him everything about what I do. Especially when it involves business."

She stared at me. "He's not trying to sabotage you."

"You sure about that?"

> "Yes."

Her voice was calm, but the edge was there now.

"Val, you don't see it," I said quietly. "Your dad's not… like you. He doesn't just ask things out of curiosity."

She let out a small, tired laugh — not mocking, just strained. "Kai, I think you're reading too much into this."

"That's not what I—"

She folded her arms loosely, her gaze soft but uncertain. "You really think my dad has some hidden agenda or something?"

"I didn't say that."

> "Then what are you trying to say, Kai?"

The question wasn't sharp, just quiet, almost pleading. But it still sat heavy in the air, the space between us feeling wider than before.

I stared at her — this woman I'd spent years with, who knew me better than anyone — and still couldn't bring myself to tell her what her father had said.

After a long silence, I muttered, "Forget it. It's late."

She paused, the shift in my tone softening her own. "Kai," she said after a moment, voice low, careful, "you can tell me, you know that, right? Whatever it is, you don't have to keep it to yourself."

She looked at me then, eyes searching. "You know I'll always be on your side."

I did know. That was the problem.

Because more than anyone, I also knew how hard she'd fought to get what she had with her father now. How many years she'd waited for even the smallest crack in his armor. How much it meant to her that he finally seemed proud.

And I couldn't be the one to take that away.

So I just nodded, forcing a faint smile. "Yeah. I know."

She studied me for a beat longer, then exhaled quietly, as if deciding to let it go. "Alright," she said softly. "Goodnight, Kai."

She turned off the bedside lamp and lay down, her back facing me.

For a second, I almost reached out. Almost said the truth — that her father had looked me in the eye and told me I wasn't good enough for her, that the only reason he tolerated me was because he could use me.

But I didn't. So I just murmured back, "Goodnight."

I lay there, staring at the dark ceiling while the faint sound of her breathing filled the space between us — soft, even, distant.

And that was the night I realized something had shifted.

Not broken.

Not yet.

But cracked — just enough to let the silence in.

---

To be continued...

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