Chapter 324: _ Just a Morning
It was 3 a.m. when we finally fell into each other’s arms again, heads on opposite ends of the mattress like kids after a sleepover. I watched her in the dark as she fiddled with the corner of the sheet, lips moving silently like she was still rehearsing strategy.
"You’re not going to sleep, are you?" I asked.
"Nope."
"Me neither."
"I thought I lost you," she whispered.
"You didn’t," I said. "But I almost lost myself trying to hate a version of you that didn’t exist."
Her eyes flicked to mine. "We let our guard down."
"We did."
"We won’t again," she promised.
"We can’t," I agreed.
And then, we fell into silence. I turned to my side, reached for her, and pulled her back to me.
"You’re still shaking," I murmured into her skin.
"I’m scared," she admitted. "What if I lose the court hearing tomorrow or what if Ignacio is in this house right now?"
I didn’t answer. Because he probably was. Instead, I tightened my grip around her waist and kissed the nape of her neck.
"Then let him hear how much I love you," I whispered.
And we made love again like the world was ending and this was the last language we had. She cried at the end. So did I. We didn’t talk after that.
But we didn’t need to. Because we knew exactly what we were about to face. And for once, we’d do it together.
*********
I woke to the distinct sound of heels on polished floor. Click. Click. Click.
My eyes blinked open, sluggish from the emotional sucker-punch that had been the last twenty-four hours. The sheets still smelled of her and us.. Sex and tears and the stubborn kind of love that hurt more than it healed, until it healed more than it hurt.
I turned my head and there she was. Standing before the mirror, hair pinned back in one of those artful, no-nonsense knots that made her neck look longer, and more regal. Her heels were black, sharp enough to kill a man’s pride, and her suit was tailored navy, nipped at the waist.
Today, she wasn’t wearing one of those soft sundresses she loved. No flowy skirts or breezy sleeves. This was her court hearing armor. And my goddess, it was criminal how hot professionalism looked on her.
She hadn’t noticed me yet. I lay there, half-buried under the sheets, watching her slide a pair of silver earrings into place like she was preparing for war.
Click.
Right earring.
Click.
Left earring.
She looked at herself like she was gearing up to slay kings and bury legacies.
"Are you going to keep watching like a stalker," she said suddenly without turning, "or are you going to get up and greet your wife?"
Busted.
A grin broke across my face. "I was admiring the view."
"Mm-hmm," she hummed, spinning around. "Greet me properly then, Señor Montenegro. But don’t ruin the makeup on my face. I already had to wipe off lip balm twice."
I sat up, stretching like a jungle cat with a cracked spine. "No promises."
She walked over, heels striking notes across the floor, and I caught her by the waist as she got close enough. She smelled like citrus and something faintly floral.
How could a woman smell so serious, and yet intimate?
Her hands landed on my bare chest warmly. "You’re half-naked," she noted.
"You’re half-deadly," I replied. "That suit should be illegal."
She smiled, eyes fluttering. "You like it?"
"I like you in anything. But that suit? Yeah. It’s giving dominant Luna and courtroom death stare, and I’m into it."
"You have a type?"
"Apparently: smart, brave, emotionally complicated, and dressed like they might sue me for breathing wrong."
She threw her head back and laughed. It was musical, rich. The kind of sound that pulled color back into grayscale mornings.
Then she stepped back, adjusting the lapels of her blazer. "You’re in a better mood."
"Hard not to be when you’re strutting around like a goddess who just climbed off me four hours ago."
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "You’re quite the talker, do you know that?"
"You love me anyway."
She softened. "I do."
I looked her up and down again. "Why’re you dressing yourself today? Where’s Lila or Carmen?"
She lifted a brow. "Need I remind you, dear husband, that I’m not a princess."
"No, you’re a Luna-to-be. Entirely different category. You’re allowed to be pampered."
She shook her head. "Today, I needed to dress myself. It’s grounding."
I stood and walked over, hands finding her waist. "You mean it reminds you you’re still in control."
She nodded. Would you look at that? Who could have thought this woman used to be the Omega María De La Vega? No one, that’s who. Sometimes, it feels like I was married to an angel.
I watched her check the time on her phone, grabbed her blazer from the arm of the chair, and shrugged into it. Then she looked at me with that soft finality—the kind that said she was seconds away from stepping back into her war zone.
"I should get going now," she said, brushing a stray hair behind her ear.
I frowned, still tangled up in sheets and sleep and the remnants of a wild night I wasn’t ready to let go of. "Wait—what about breakfast?"
She paused only long enough to throw me a look over her shoulder. "Skipped it."
I blinked. "Skipped? María José, you never skip breakfast. You’re the founding member of the ’Coffee Before Court Hearings’ club."
"Yeah, well..." She picked up her folder and tucked it under her arm. "I’m not about to sit through another toxic-family breakfast when I’ve got corrupt men to prosecute in the same morning."
Ouch.
That hit hard. And not just because she wasn’t wrong, but because the entire family dynamic was more poisonous than a witch’s pantry. I hate that I had to marry her and put her in the middle of all of it.