The doorbell rings at exactly 10:03 a.m.
Not a minute earlier.
Not a minute later.
The kind of timing that feels intentional.
Calculated.
My breath hitches as I finish fastening the diamond clasp of my bracelet—Noah’s gift from last Christmas. The one he says “looks better when you smile.” The one I only wear when I need to look like the kind of woman who isn’t coming apart at the seams.
I smooth my silk robe, force my shoulders back, and walk downstairs with slow, elegant steps—the kind my mother drilled into me growing up. “Money should look effortless, darling.”
My heart beats like a fist in my throat anyway.
Noah reaches the foyer first.
He’s in joggers and a fitted black T-shirt, still warm from a morning workout, hair damp and pushed back, jaw tight in that “I’m calm until I’m not” way.
Because the delivery man is holding something.
A black velvet box.
Not flowers.
Not a parcel.
A velvet box.
Big. Heavy. Luxurious.
Gift-wrapped in matte black paper with a blood-red ribbon tied in a knot instead of a bow.
My stomach drops.
That’s not Noah’s style.
That’s not my family’s style.
That’s not anyone’s style—Except Kai’s.
Oh God.
My pulse spikes so hard I nearly sway.
Noah signs for the package with a clipped, controlled motion.
His eyes flick to mine the moment he shuts the door.
“Expecting something?”
His tone is casual.
The muscle in his jaw says he’s already spiralling.
I force a soft, airy laugh—the one society girls always mastered before love ever became part of the equation.
“No… not that I can think of.” I tilt my head, smile sweetly. “Maybe one of the girls sent something early for the engagement party?”
