Chapter 112: The Val Protection Agency
My night was kinda short.
Okay, not exactly short—more like it got chopped into two halves or something like that.
The first half ended around five in the morning, when Val decided sleep wasn’t nearly as important as... well, her words: "advance payment for the birthday cake you’re getting me."
I told her nope, I’ll pass.
She pouted, huffed, and then, with that mischievous whisper of hers, went, Fine. I’m horny.
So yeah. That was all you need to know. I’m not going into details. Except I finally fell asleep again around six, and now here I was, blinking against the sunlight stabbing through the curtains.
The clock on my nightstand read 10:26 a.m. I groaned softly, rolling onto my side.
Val was still asleep, tangled in the sheets like she owned the entire bed. Peaceful. Completely untouched by the chaos she’d started a few hours earlier.
And honestly, what guy in his right mind gets mad when his insanely hot girlfriend wakes him up for sex in the middle of the night? Not me. Especially not when she’s lying here right now—cheeks relaxed, lips parted, hair spilled everywhere across my pillow like she owned not just the bed, but me too.
My chest tightened. And then, like an idiot, the thought snuck in: What if other guys are texting her?
Her phone was right there, just an arm’s reach away. I stared at it, then at her, then back at it.
My hand moved before my brain caught up. I picked it up, thumb hovering over the screen for a beat before pressing in the code I already knew. The lock slid away like it had been waiting for me.
And then my finger just...froze.
No. Don’t. Don’t be that guy.
I swallowed hard, setting my jaw.
She wouldn’t. She loves me. I know she does.
But then again... she’s Val. Celestia Valentina Moreau. Drop-dead gorgeous, sharp-tongued, impossible not to notice. Guys would kill just for a smile from her.
I tightened my grip on the phone.
Still... I saw the way she handled Bradley Sinclair. She shut him down without flinching. She made it clear I was the only one. I should trust that. I should trust her.
And yet, my thumb hovered over the messages like it had a mind of its own.
Before I could decide, a sleepy groan broke the silence.
"Morning, husband," Val mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
I jumped, instantly locking her phone and setting it down like it was on fire.
She cracked one eye open, catching the movement. "What was that for?" Her voice was soft, lazy, but curious.
I rubbed the back of my neck. "I was...checking the time."
Her gaze flicked immediately to the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand, glowing the numbers bright and obvious. Then back to me. Her eyes narrowed.
> "You’re lying."
She sat up, sheets falling around her shoulders.
I swallowed, heat crawling up my neck. "I...didn’t mean to, but—"
Her silence pulled the rest out of me. I exhaled. "It’s just... you’re really hot. And guys text hot girls. A lot."
For a second, she just stared. Then her brows lifted slightly, like she understood exactly what I was dancing around.
> "So you were checking my texts?"
"I wasn’t really—" I stumbled over my words. "I hadn’t opened anything yet, you know."
She studied me for another beat, then simply said, "Okay."
And lay back down.
I blinked. "...Just okay?"
> "Mm-hm." Eyes closed.
"You’re not mad?"
> "Nope."
I frowned, baffled. "Why?"
Her lashes lifted again, and she sat up, looking directly at me. "Because I get it."
For a second, I thought she meant I get it—you’re right, I’m hot, guys text me all the time.
But then she tilted her head, expression calm, and added:
> "Besides, I read yours too."
I nearly choked on air. "What?"
Her mouth quirked like she enjoyed watching me combust. "You heard me. I read yours too."
"Why would you—who’d I even be texting?"
She shrugged. "Some girls, for some delusional reason, enjoy texting guys who are already in a relationship. Just like some guys go after girls they can’t have."
"But still." I ran a hand through my hair. "I’m like...me. A nerd."
Her lips curved into a smirk. "And somehow you bagged me. Which means you could probably bag anyone, if they’re dumb enough to try."
I stared at her, completely thrown off by the casual confidence in her tone.
She leaned closer, eyes sharp now. "And if any girl gets too close, they’ll see what I saw. Why I fell for you. And I’m not letting that happen."
The words hit deeper than I expected. Not teasing, not bratty. Just...true.
Then, just as suddenly, she flopped back down and shut her eyes.
I blinked. "...What are you doing?"
"Still sleepy," she murmured.
"It’s past 10:30 in the morning, Val."
"Just five more minutes, Dad," she whispered, eyes shut, voice soft and almost whiny.
That shut me right up. Heat rushed to my face. Dad. First husband, now dad.
I had no idea if it was intentional—probably was, knowing her. A new nickname, perfectly timed to shut me down and leave me red in the face.
But as much as it rattled me, I couldn’t even hate it.
Because lying there, watching her drift between sleep and smug satisfaction, I realized I’d take every ridiculous name she threw at me. Husband. Dad. Whatever came next.
If it meant she was still here, still mine.
---
By the time we finally dragged ourselves out of bed, the sun was already halfway across the sky.
Yes—1 p.m.. In the afternoon.
And honestly? I couldn’t even pretend to care. Between being woken up in the middle of the night by a certain brat demanding "advance payment" and then her smug insistence that she was too tired to get up again this morning, sleep had swallowed us both whole.
So, yeah. Brushed teeth, showers, food—it all blurred together in that slow, lazy way Sundays always seemed to demand.
Now, hours later, she was propped up at the end of the couch, scrolling through TikTok reels, her expression flickering between unimpressed, amused, and the occasional grin that made her shoulders shake. I sat at the other end, book in hand, pretending to be immersed in the page.
And maybe I was—until my phone chimed on the coffee table.
She looked up first. "Babe, you’ve got a text. From Trent."
I didn’t move.
"Baaabe," she sang, leaning forward, snatching it up before I could even blink. She glanced at the screen, then extended it to me. "Here."
I sighed, setting the book down and taking it. One swipe, and Trent’s message glared up at me.
Bro, I don’t get Marina. I tried kissing her again last night, and she pulled away. Said she ’wasn’t ready.’ I don’t even know what her deal is.
I exhaled, thumb hovering before locking the phone.
Val’s eyes were already on me. "So?"
"He’s... complaining," I said, voice flat. "About Marina."
Her brow arched. "Complaining how?"
I rubbed at the back of my neck. "That he tried to kiss her again and she turned him down."
Her reaction was instant—a sharp roll of her eyes.
I blinked. "What was that?"
> "Nothing."
"Val."
She crossed her arms, the phone still in her lap, eyes stubbornly glued to the screen. "I just don’t like the guy, that’s all."
I tilted my head. "Since when?"
> "Since always."
That earned her a look. "Why?"
"Well, for one..." she shifted, still not meeting my eyes, "...he got mad at you over Marina. Remember?"
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. And?"
> "That’s it."
I blinked again. "That’s it?"
She finally turned toward me, face set, voice steady. "Yes. That’s all. I don’t like him because he got mad at you."
A laugh slipped out before I could stop it. "Wait—you’re actually mad at him because of that? For me?"
She didn’t even flinch. Just nodded.
"You didn’t even show it," I reminded her. "Not once. Not even when he sat with us in the cafeteria."
"That’s because Marina was there," she shot back instantly.
I leaned back, letting out a low whistle. "Wow."
Her nose wrinkled. "He looked at you like he hated you, Kai. I don’t like that. I’ll never like that."
Something about the way she said it—the firmness in her voice, the little crease in her forehead—made me go quiet.
Because yeah, I’d brushed off Trent’s coldness. I’d chalked it up to jealousy, confusion, whatever excuse fit best at the time. Guys got like that sometimes. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t the end of the world.
To her, though? It was.
I tried anyway. "It’s not really that big of a deal, Val. Stuff like that happens. Guys get protective, especially when they think—"
"It is," she cut in, sharp but not angry. "It’s a big deal to me."
I studied her, the way her jaw was set, the way her eyes burned with something unshakable. She wasn’t just irritated. She was protective.
Protective of me.
And it made me smile.
"You’re really serious about this, huh?" I teased gently.
> "Dead serious."
That broke me—I laughed. A full, honest laugh.
She fought it, lips pressed tight, but I saw the smile threatening at the corners.
"You’re laughing," I accused.
"Nope." Her voice was too high, too tight.
"Yes, you are."
She tried to glare, failed, and finally snorted. The sound alone made me grin harder.
"Fine," she admitted, laughter breaking free as she grabbed a pillow and smacked it against my arm. "But I’m still never going to like the guy."
"Noted," I said, ducking the halfhearted second hit.
She rolled her eyes dramatically and plopped back against the couch, phone back in her hand like the conversation was already over.
I shook my head, still smiling.
Because she’d meant every word.
She might tease, might pout, might play her bratty games, but when it came to me—when it came to anyone daring to put me down—Val drew her line in the sand without hesitation.
And that mattered more than I could ever tell her.
---
To be continued...