Hospitals for war-torn cities.
Clean water for villages left choking on dust.
Roads where aid couldn’t reach.
Orphanages for the children our operations displaced.
Schools where ignorance once reigned.
All written into the contract by my wife.
My brilliant, cunning, infuriatingly good wife.
Where the world calls us war machines—mercenaries for hire, destroyers in suits—she countered the narrative with something revolutionary.
Responsibility.
Mercy.
Restoration.
Because Cecilia isn’t just smart.
She isn’t just diplomatic.
She isn’t just a strategist with the kind of brilliance that terrifies entire committees.
She’s good.
A kind of good I didn’t believe existed anymore.
A kind of good that terrifies me because I want to be worthy of it.
She is my compass in a world made of chaos and greed.
She is my peace in a life built on violence.
She is the only pure thing I’ve ever touched without destroying.
She is my good in this world.
And I will spend the rest of my life making sure the world never takes that goodness from her.
She stirs again, then speaks, her voice rasped and full of sleep. “Mmm, what are you thinking so loudly, husband?”
I smile.
“Good,” I murmur, “you’re awake.”
She nods, and her whole body does this sexy little jiggle. Predictably, my cock stands at instant attention. One hand cups her ass, and the other brushes hair from her face as I shift her onto her back, hovering over her, just watching her blink up at me like I hung the moon.
And maybe I would, if she asked.
“What are you thinking?” she asks again, voice laced with amusement now. “You look like you’re either going to cry or start planning world domination again.”
I lean in, lips brushing her ear. “Actually, I’m thinking I’m hungry.”
“Oh?” She tilts her head, her smirk lazy and wicked.
