#romance frequency

❤️‍🔥☔️ The Unhinged Heart of the Storm ⛈️

[In the realm of Vyrelin—home of silver-blooded rivers and languages that sound sung more than spoken.]

I remained silent, nestled in the shadowy corner of the ancient library, engrossed in a tome of forgotten spells. Any tome. Something that didn’t reveal me as the curious soul observing the ethereal figure I believed to be a wandering spirit.

Alas,

| Micah wasn’t.

He stood, his posture as unyielding as stone, scanning the enchanted shelves of his personal library for a tome or artifact he hadn’t yet acquired. His eyes caught nothing unusual, save for the twilight weaving a tapestry of first editions, unnoticed by most. Clad in a simple ensemble—a basebaell cap, a sweater, and joggers—he managed to make the most mundane attire appear as if woven from the finest silks of the realm.

I shook my head, reminding myself not to linger too long. It was dangerously close to treason. His family was among the esteemed royals in this prestigious academy of magic. And I, an ordinary student never hoped to be on his radar. I was certain that after our orientation, he’d already forgotten my name.

As I finished my charade of productivity, a hand—warm, soft, and long—halted me near the ancient bookcase. “Do you believe fleeing would solve anything?”

I clutched my enchanted satchel tightly, drawing in a sharp breath. “I wasn’t fleeing.”

“You weren’t?” he asked, shrouded in mist. “Then why were you racing towards the Portal?” He snatched my only tome, “Pride and Prejudice of Eldoria,” from my grasp. He glanced at the back as if it were unfamiliar, yet I know he has read it countless times.

“I recalled the ancient prophecy that I must fulfill.”

“Or,” he said, pressing the tome back into my folded arms, “you’re attempting to evade my presence.”

“Please,” I chuckled, masking the cunning glint in my eyes. “You overestimate your own power.”

“And you underestimate me,” Micah declared, striding forward until I was pressed against the ancient, dust-laden shelves that whispered secrets of forgotten times. “Did you truly believe I wouldn’t see through your disguise?”

I merely shook my head, which elicited a chuckle from him. Now, he was drawing us both into a secluded realm of oblivion. His hand rested firmly on the shelves above me. His breathing slowed, while mine ceased entirely. Then, he gently placed his cap down and off his head, onto mine.

“What are you—?”

“Hush, have faith in me.” He gently secured the cap on my head, ensuring it fit perfectly, and then drew it over my eyes. “No one will suspect what awaits us.”

“Except me.”

“Cease your charade, and enchant me with your kiss already.” I obliged, without a moment’s pause. His lips traced mine like a sculpted ballet. For that is what one does when entwined in a clandestine romance. Even if it must remain hidden. His fingers caressing my chin sent waves of magic coursing through me, beyond my comprehension. It was difficult to avert my gaze from him. Such gentle eyes he possessed. Brown. Enchanting. Satisfying.

“I’ve longed for you.”

“You gaze before me at the dawn of the academy’s lessons,” I murmured with a gentle chuckle. We remained within the ancient library, where even a raised voice was a transgression against the sacred silence.

“You strike my heart strings.”

I knew the Prince of Lunethria Academy wasn’t sulking. It was amusing to ever imagine my absence hindered his royal duties. I doubted it, but in this moment, he could persuade me of anything utterly fantastical. And I’d believe him.

“There’s something I must inquire of you,” he inquired. “Isn’t there?”

I winced. “No.” We had discussed this countless times. We weren’t going to the grand ball together. It would be too damaging to his noble standing and my humble one.

“Kiyanna—“

I slipped from his grasp and darted forward, gaining a brief moment before his reflexes caught up. His arm encircled my waist, drawing me back just as I neared the end of the enchanted bookshelf aisle.

“You can’t torment me like this,” Micah murmured into my ear, his voice a haunting whisper. “You’re my chosen one. Don’t I have the right to at least inquire?”

“Faintly not.”

I would counter. It was difficult to resist his allure. He exuded the scent of autumn, infused with cinnamon and apples—a body wash he crafted after I revealed my favorite season.

He turned me back, embraced me. My books dropped with a slight thud, their echoes swallowed by the vastness of the ancient library. Outside, the realm's weather mirrored the tempest within my chest—grey skies roiling with ominous clouds, flashes of lightning slicing through the gloom, and distant rumbles of thunder rolling like ancient drums. The raw electricity in the air seemed to pulse in time with the racing beat of my heart, amplifying the intensity of our closeness. The flickering light danced across his features, casting shadows that deepened the enigmatic allure of his gaze, binding me in a moment that felt both fragile and eternal.

| More than I desired, yet it was my own folly.

I consented to a clandestine courtship with him. Our agreement was forged after we absconded from the confines of academia, embarking on a journey through realms beyond imagination. We traversed the Land of Milk and Honey, the Land of Enchanted Waters, and the Endless Forest.

He once whispered to me that no matter the distant lands we might traverse, he would always return to my side. Fate wove its mysterious threads, turning my very soul into molten gold.

“Yet I—“ Micah murmurs, his thoughts swirling like a tempest. “Pray that you desire me.”

With a gentle sigh, my eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Each time, he weaves his enchantment, and it grows ever more difficult to resist his allure. My gaze blazed a deep violet as tears cascaded around us, conjuring a tempest of our own making. With a reluctant flick of his crimson wave, he pierced the cloud above, and it vanished before the ancient tomes could be lost to ruin.

“Yearning for thee,” I swallowed. “Brought me to this enchanted realm.”

“I shall not witness thee depart with another,” his fingers crackled with crimson energy, tendrils of flame dancing at their tips.

“Fear not, for thou hast naught to dread,” I could at least offer him solace with those words. “For I shall not embark upon that journey.”

“And,” his face shifted subtly, from a taunting stare to a beguiling one. His fingers sent tiny sparks over my exposed leg. I gasped as he began to weave his magic within me. “If I persuade you otherwise.”

“If you—“ I struggled to catch my breath. His fingers were about to unravel the very fabric of my existence. “Micah.”

He remains silent, his gaze fixed upon me as I unravel amidst the towering bookshelves. My hands quake, reaching desperately for anything to stave off the inevitable. Yet, he knows no bounds, no constraints. With a deft motion, he lifts my legs higher, positioning them around his waist, securing a more perfect angle to the shimmering wetness that gathers between us.

“At least your body cannot deny me,” he sneered, his voice echoing through the enchanted courtyard. I loathed him for it. He was taunting me in the open, under the watchful eyes of the entire magic academy. And I was allowing him to do so.

“Cease… your jesting,” I stammered, my very essence faltering.

“Then grant me my desire,” He declared, his echoing with the authority of a noble. His growl resonated through the air. He lowered me just enough for our connection to intensify, more profound than before. His lips claimed mine as he delved deeper, my legs trembled. My heart pounded. My mind dissolved into a haze. In that moment, I would’ve resolved everything and invited him to accompany me to the grand ball.

“V-very well. By the stars!” I reached the pinnacle of ecstasy, and he cradled me through it all, wielding his otherworldly speed and might to prevent us from unraveling into the ether.

When he set me down, he gently mended the skirt he had torn apart in our passionate encounter. Together, we wielded our magical powers to turn back the sands of time, to a moment when our union didn’t threaten to shatter the world.

Micah lifted my tomes, a broad grin spreading across his face. His enchanted rings glimmered on each finger, casting a magical aura. I brushed off my skirt, my claws retracting from his visage. I couldn’t believe that nearly triggered my transformation. He was going to end me.

“Splendid, then we shall meet anon. At our secret glade.” Micah bestowed a gentle kiss upon my cheek before swapping my tomes for his cap. “There, I shall extend my formal invitation.”

Then he disappeared, as if swallowed by the ether.

Like the tempest he arrived upon, he was gone. And I was left with nearly the whole student body, continuing as if our realm had not been torn asunder.

Same characters, same love.

Different thoughts and delegations.

Loving You,

With Everything In Me

Mic

“Micah?”

Her voice drifted through the house like sunlight.

“In here.”

I called from the kitchen.

The smell of melted butter and sugar hung in the air as I slid a tray of chocolate chip cookies into the oven. Attempting to bake might be the more accurate description, but the intention counted.

Kiy appeared in the archway, still glowing from brunch with the girls. Her smile hit me first. Then she walked over and kissed me softly.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked, hopping onto the counter.

My hands instinctively reached to steady her before stopping halfway. She gave me that look—relax, Mic. It was still early.

“Nothing,” I said with a shrug. “Wanted to do something nice.”

She picked up the spoon and started licking the cookie batter like she’d been starving for it.

“So,” I added casually, leaning against the counter. “What’d the doctor say?”

The spoon paused.

She exhaled slowly.

“A bit early to say for sure, however,” she said. “Dr. Jackson wants to schedule an ultrasound soon.”

My stomach tightened.

“But,” she continued, “she said it’s possible…”

Her eyes met mine.

“…we could have twins.”

Shit.

I leaned across the counter and let that settle over me like a wave.

When Kiy first took the pregnancy test, she was shaking so bad I thought she might drop the stick. We waited together in the bathroom, staring at the timer like it might explode.

Longest thirty minutes of my life.

When it showed positive, I had our driver, Phil, run out for more tests. I wasn’t leaving her side for a second.

Five tests later, the truth stood there staring at us. She was carrying our future.

And now there might be two of them.

“The girls know?” I asked.

She dropped her gaze, licking a bit of batter from her finger. That told me everything.

When she first told them about the pregnancy, the reaction had been… intense. Autumn immediately went into wedding-general mode and started rearranging the entire timeline so nothing would stress Kiy out.

Which is how we ended up here.

Detroit.
August 12th.

Soon? Definitely.

Rushed? Not really.

Everyone around us had basically turned into a planning army. Chris and Julia handling catering details. Autumn and Zune handled location and decor. And Gabriel and Stembie worked out our guest list and seating arrangements.

All Kiy and I had to do was show up.

Still, I knew she’d handed Autumn a stack of charts and color palettes thick enough to run a small country.

Our combined bachelor and bridal party would be out there soon too. We’d fly in next week.

Then the wedding the week after.

Strangely, my heart wasn’t racing.

It held a steady beat.

After that came the museum gala. Kiy’s first red carpet. I was excited for her, but the idea of piling travel and events on top of a pregnancy made my protective instincts itch.

“You sure you’re up for all this traveling?” I asked, pulling her gently into my arms. My lips brushed against her forehead as she caressed my arms.

“Mic, yes,” she laughed. “Are you sure you’re okay with everything that’s happening? The planner offered to push the date back a year.”

I shook my head quickly and pressed my cheek against her stomach.

“I’ve waited… exceptionally long for you to have my last name,” I murmured. “I’m not waiting another year. If it was up to me, those papers would’ve been signed in Egypt already.”

She laughed softly. “I’m glad it’s Motown though,” she added. “Going home after all these years is going to feel weird.”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “For me too.”

The cookie timer dinged.

We spent the rest of the afternoon tossing around baby names, stealing slightly charred chocolate chip cookies straight from the tray, and talking about the trip that would end with us saying I do.

Somewhere between the laughter and the burnt sugar, it settled over me.

Home wasn’t a place we were going back to.

It was something we were building.

Kiy

“Party people. Y’all packed or what?”

Zune came through the door after they had a quick hoop session. All the guys came straggling in one by one. They didn’t look exhausted, so maybe this time the locals didn’t whoop their asses.

Well, they never did. Close games, but never a blowout. My man can hoop. He didn’t play to lose.

“I got some accessories and shoes coming in tomorrow,” I answered while Julia and I practiced our spades game on the moss living room floor. “But mostly.”

“Ah, miss bride-to-be.” Zune gripped his heart. “You glowing as usual.”

Micah smacked the back of his head. Zune shot him a wild look. “Don’t be flirting with my wife in front of me.”

Zune cheesed, ignoring the warning. “Bet you couldn’t wait to use that one, huh? Fatherhood?”

Mic pushed past him, joining me on the floor, his arms resting around my stomach. He pecked me twice on the cheek. “Hey baby, you good?”

“Yes.” I blinked up at him. His face held this particular look like he was about to do something reckless. He cupped my face and kissed me in front of everybody.

“See? That’s why she expecting,” Zune added, finding Autumn on the couch and pulling her close. Autumn shook her head, playing with her man’s gold chain. “You need to get off her and let her breathe.”

“Nigga.”

Everyone burst out laughing.

“I know you of all people not giving me PDA advice,” Micah shot back. “I’m in my home. With my woman.”

“Baby,” I chuckled, and he kissed me again—longer this time.

“Handle that.” He got up abruptly, proving a point, not before whispering in my ear. “Imma go shower.”

I nodded, my attention back on the game with Julia. I laid down an ace, she cursed under her breath.

“What do y’all think of the cathedral we found?” Autumn changed the subject. “It’s basically emptied. We’re replacing the benches with either velvet or silk.”

“I love it.” I laid down a spade. Julia cursed again trying to keep up. “Why choose? Mix them.”

Autumn clasped her hands. “That’s why you’re always the creative genius.”

“What we miss?” Gabriel came back with Stembie after she had “forgot something in the car.”

Guess all the baby fever got to them too. Well, the act of creating one.

But nobody called them out.

“Nothing,” I drew another card and laid it down. “You gotta teach Julia properly, Stem. She’s losing to a pregnant woman.”

Chris leaned out from the den, split between the Pistons game and the living room. “Don’t patronize my girl. She trying to learn now.”

Stembie chuckled as she took a seat beside us, getting her cards ready. Gabriel joined Chris, dapping him up just as the Spurs lost the ball and the two of them erupted.

“You shouldn’t make motherhood sound like a disability,” Julia muttered, studying the table before sliding a card down.

“The way my hormones are,” I said, landing the final spade, “it’s leaning nuclear.”

I gathered the win and pushed myself up, deciding to check on Mic.

Not that he needed help getting dressed. But lately—especially tonight, the night before we fly to Detroit—I felt pulled toward him in a way I couldn’t explain.

I slipped past the arch corridor that led to the back of the house. Warm steam drifted into the hallway, my bare feet catching the mist that settled on the tile like morning dew.

His back was turned when I stepped into the bathroom. A fresh towel wrapped low around his waist, a simple tank and shorts folded neatly on the counter.

I leaned against the doorway, one hand resting over my stomach.

And suddenly it hit me.

Like a wave reaching shore.

Like a sailor finding the lighthouse through fog.

The man I loved across lifetimes wasn’t a dream anymore.

Not a memory.

He was here.

His existence had become my superpower. And with him—as my husband, as my best friend—I knew there wasn’t anything in this world we couldn’t face.

“Meu lar.”

He turned quickly, the moment he saw my face. His hands came up, warm against my cheeks. Tears slipped down and dotted his palms like small proofs of truth.

“You’re crying,” he murmured. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re my best part, Mic.”

The words left me softly, like something I’d been carrying for years.

He pushed the door closed behind me, sealing us inside the warmth and steam. My back rested against the wood as his hand came down beside my head, bridging the small space between us.

“It just hit me,” I said quietly. “How real this is. How real you are.”

His eyes held mine—deep, warm, steady—like I was something precious.

“You’d tell me if I was dreaming, right?”

Micah tilted my chin slightly, studying my face the way he always did when he knew my heart was running faster than my thoughts.

I laughed softly, brushing the tears away.

“Sometimes I feel like we’re still on that porch with the checkered patio rug,” I whispered. “Talking up at the stars.”

His arms slipped around my waist, pulling me closer until there was barely any space left between us.

“In that moment,” Mic said gently, “I had no idea you were about to bring me my whole world.”

His thumb brushed my cheek. “And you did it so effortlessly.”

He kissed my temple. My cheek. The corner of my mouth. Small sparks everywhere he touched.

“I can’t wait to become the man you always saw in me.”

“You already are, Micah,” I whispered.

He held me tighter, like he believed that now.

We stood there in the steam, the bathroom suddenly feeling like its own quiet little universe. Down the hallway our friends laughed, their voices echoing through the house like life continuing exactly as it should.

Micah’s hands slid down slowly until they rested over my stomach.

“And you,” he murmured, his voice softer than before, “are the star in a room I’ll always keep safe.”

His hand stayed there. Warm. Certain.

Outside the window, the night was still. The kind of quiet that listens.

And for the first time, something simple settled deep in my chest.

The stars weren’t above us anymore.

We had built one.

Maybe even two.

The Sky Held Our Answer

Kiy

We didn’t fly home just yet. After a heart-wrenching murder mystery dinner, I was still shaken up. I wasn’t actually Claudette, of course. But I understood the weight of that story. It felt ancient somehow—like the pain belonged to another lifetime.

Maybe it did.

To inherit the world and lose your heart. That was one thing I promised myself we would never do.

But I’d be lying if I said my feet didn’t run cold.

Were we ready to be married? Could something like that bring us closer—or pull us apart once the hidden secrets started surfacing? The shadows we hadn’t dealt with in so long.

“Meu lar.”

I flinched.

Micah tilted his head as we lounged in a quiet cabana outside Cairo. Concern crept across his face as he draped an arm over my stomach.

“You’re still thinking about that dinner.”

I huffed and pushed my sunglasses up. “I mean… how could I not? That ending was so…”

“Bleak?”

“More than that,” I said. “It stopped being about the killer. It became about the systems. The people who build them. The ones who get trapped inside them.”

A chill slipped down my spine. I couldn’t imagine us—being us—becoming that compromised.

But the truth was, not that long ago, we almost had.

We both fought hard for each other. Could we still? Or would one of us give something away… the way Agustí and Claudette did?

He nodded the way he does when he’s fully tuned in.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “It hit me. Even while I was playing Agustí, I could feel the tension. Doing the right thing… or protecting someone he loved.”

He knelt beside me, grounding my runaway thoughts, tracing slow circles around my navel.

“I think you’re right,” he continued. “It stopped being about murder. It became about the people standing around the chaos. That’s what makes the ending good though. It leaves you with questions.”

I turned on my side to face him.

“It….scared me.”

“Me too,” he admitted. “But we aren’t them. Believe me.”

“I do. Always.”

I exhaled, letting his words settle, then rolled onto my back again. The sun warmed my skin, slowly melting the last cold corners of that imagined future.

We’d hauled in more souvenirs than I could count. A quick FaceTime from Autumn flickered across my screen before boarding, her laugh bouncing through the lounge. Micah and I said our last goodbyes to the digging crew at the airport the next morning. Every one of them saved as a personal contact. Every one invited—verbally, earnestly—to our wedding.

I finally understood why Micah needed these excursions. It wasn’t about space or adventure. It was about people. About real connections. Priceless ones that leave echoes long after the footprints vanish.

“Damn, y’all still in one piece, huh?” Autumn’s voice pulled me back, warm and teasing. Our flight was delayed, the Cairo lounge buzzing with soft chatter and the hum of rolling suitcases. “That’s what I like to see.”

Mic waved at her before brushing his lips across my forehead. He drifted toward the buffet, leaving behind the scent of Egyptian spices, searching for something a little closer to home. Burgers. He always knew my weak spot.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” I said, sinking into a corner by the window. Sunlight dappled across the polished floor, planes glinting as they taxied and took off. “This… this was the most liberating trip I’ve had.”

“Next time, we should all go,” Autumn said, fanning her fresh nails across the screen like she was swatting at impossibly delicate air. “I know, I know—it’ll be after the wedding, but a bitch can dream.”

“Like you and Zune need a getaway?” I teased, grinning. “Gotta come up for air from that.”

“Hefta,” she laughed, signing off. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

I exhaled, letting the calm settle around me like sunshine warming my shoulders.

“You’re glowing,” Mic said, settling across from me with a plate of fruit on one side, two burgers on the other. “I love seeing you like that.”

“Well, I didn’t expect this trip to be so… captivating,” I admitted. “And you found--“

“We found.” He corrected, feeding me a strawberry like it was a secret.

I let the flavor linger, the sweet tartness mixing with the quiet airport hum. “We found pieces of history,” I said, voice soft, “that’ll end up in a museum. The one in New York where celebrities strut their walkways.”

“That reminds me,” he murmured, scrolling through a group chat. “When do you want to go to the opening? They’re already obsessed.”

I glimpsed the messages: Will Kiy be attending? And is she coming to the fall excursion in Thailand?

Mic shook his head, arm draped casually over the back of my chair. He snapped his phone closed. “Knew they’d be like this after meeting you. You’re contagious.”

“I didn’t know I’d have that much fun,” I said, laughter light and easy. “But I get it now. I get you now.”

“Baby, you have me,” he said, lifting my chin, strawberry still teasing our lips. “That’s why I’m not sharing.”

Mic

July 21

The Pollux Notes

Mood: Truth has weight. It’s never easy. Especially to someone who’s your entire world. But regardless, it will spill. Might as well do the spilling.

The plane hums beneath our feet. Kiy-surprisedly wide awake, reflecting on all the photos we took. Some appropriate. Some not.

Her headphones plug in, lost in optics that were only a mere days ago. Us on the steamboat, us at the temple. Us at the pyramid.

Her, naked, a slight thin covering across her as she was reading in our suite. The night after our charity dinner. Me, ass out, staring into town on our balcony.

Us … well you get it. I can see how this trip changed her. It changed me too. Like the past has finally stopped looming over us. We have a chance to be ourselves.

Openly. Carefully. Vividly.

I learned so much in Egypt. About Ra. About Horus. About the real story between Hathor and Sekhmet split. It authenticates unbounded love.

A domino effect after one goddess chose love. Choose us. And I knew it was only the beginning.

I knew in my heart our marriage would no longer give doubt. It’s destined. It’s chosen.

I felt tied to her in every shape and form. And to be honest, it didn’t scare me anymore.

I relied on it.

She’d be my anchor anywhere and no matter how far we go, Kiy kept me grounded. Safe.

I know I have the pleasure of doing the same. In this life… and the next.

My forever rain.

Truth, Stripped of Performance

The Interrogation

The inspector claimed a corner office no one had yet disturbed. Outside, the river brushed the hull in steady taps, louder now that voices were absent. Mr. Black kept watch at the door, turning a compass in his palm as if testing whether the night still knew its direction.

In the waiting room, the guests held themselves still. Eyes measured. Shoulders angled away. No conclusions yet—only the slow understanding that everyone would be called in alone.

“Miss Virginia Rose,” Inspector Digory said, rising to shake her hand.

She met it—awkward, arm stiff—then took the chair across from him. “Let’s begin with why you were invited.”

“Oh, I wasn’t,” she said, gum working relentlessly. “Butch was.”

“Am I to assume Butch is—”

Digory’s pen paused. He wrote anyway.

“My fiancé,” Virginia added. “Recent. I was his plus one.”

“And how does your fiancé know Miss Windleblossom?”

“They run in the same circles. Same parties.”

“A newsie?” Digory’s tone remained neutral.

“Honestly—yes. But he isn’t just a newsie. He owns the factory uptown from Windleblossom’s estate.”

Digory looked up. “The factory that offered to purchase her property?”

“I know nothing about that,” Virginia said quickly. “He promised me a life of wealth. With my luck, it felt unwise to refuse.”

“Are you marrying for love, Miss Rose?”

She stared at him, blinking once. Hard. “Of course.”

Digory closed his notebook. “You may go.”

Virginia hesitated, unsettled. “You didn’t ask me about the body.”

“No,” Digory said, already turning the page. “Send in the next one.”

“Butch Lawry, Digs.” Black announces as he eyes Lawry square before closing the door behind him.

“Care to sit Mr. Lawry?” The inspector offered.

“I rather stand,” she paces the office and fumbles a book that was dusty. “Me and my girl didn’t do this.”

“I know,” the inspector says, jolting down something else. He fixes his glasses. “But I rather know how the invitation got to you.”

“Well, I was just as surprised as you are,” Butch answered. “Especially after the bidding war. It got ugly.”

“Yes, the papers—your paper company—inquired about Windleblossom’s London estate?”

“Well, it was apart of an expansion.” She popped her suspenders into place, then leaned on the back wall. “Windleblossom would’ve got a plenty penny for it. Until it burned to the ground.”

“Her estate caught fire?”

“Oh yeah, almost nuclear.” She chuckles lowly. “For the longest, she blamed me. So I’m not sure why I’m here, inspector. But I accepted because of Rose.”

“Your fiancé?”

“Yes.” She went on, “I’ll do anything for her.”

“That is all.”

Butch dipped her hat then left the office.

“I’m going to be sick.”

The cook went pale. Inspector Digory slid a bin toward him without comment and continued writing.

“You were a last-minute addition,” Digory said. “No formal invitation.”

“That’s—” Layfette paused to breathe. “That’s correct. I was hired to cook. That was my only role.”

“The meals were imported from—”

“Everywhere.” He swallowed hard. “I know some of the world’s best chefs. The ingredients were gifts.”

“Especially the steak bites.”

Layfette retched. When he finally lifted his head, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Forgive me. It’s been a strange night. I only wanted to redeem myself.”

“The loss of your third star,” Digory said, flipping a page. “You encountered Miss Windleblossom later in the evening?”

“She found me,” Layfette said hoarsely. “Pulled me from my own misery. I was… not well.”

“You felt indebted to her?”

He vomited again, then answered through it. “Not enough to kill a man.”

“You may go.”

Layfette staggered out, leaving the bin behind.

Sir William John entered next, posture stiff, expression rehearsed.

“Why can’t you bloody do your job and stop wasting my time?” he snapped. “I’m obviously innocent.”

“Why would an innocent man sound so aggrieved?” Digory asked calmly.

“Because you’re mishandling this room.” William flicked his lighter, restless. “Any one of us could be next.”

“Sit down, William.”

He did, heavily, crossing his legs, lighter still clenched in his hand.

“Your relationship to Layfette?” Digory asked.

“What relationship?” William scoffed. “We were having bit of fun is all.”

“Did you know him before Miss Windleblossom?”

“Yes. At his restaurant. I’d just earned a promotion. My colleagues insisted we celebrate. I ran into him in the alley. Things… ignited.”

“By ignited, you mean—”

“Sex,” William said flatly. “I smashed him, of course.”

“I see.” Digory adjusted his glasses. “You were a stockbroker.”

“The best,” William replied. “A family title.”

“Yet your family objected to your departure.”

“My forced departure,” he snapped. “I was accused of a crime.”

“The estate fire.”

“That very one.”

“Thank you, William.”

William stood abruptly and exited, displeasure radiating behind him.

The pirate opened the door for Dr. Khatibi.

The inspector rose at once, pulling him into a brief embrace—two men who knew each other too well.

“Cedric,” Digory said warmly. “How did you end up tangled in this?”

Dr. Khatibi laughed softly. “I wish I knew. I only wanted to ensure Miss Windleblossom was well. But… there were complications.”

“You and she were absent with the deceased for some time.”

“Yes,” Khatibi said evenly. “But not for murder.”

“He had been drinking?”

“Extensively. We didn’t realize he was an alcoholic until recently. The man was unraveling—going through a painful divorce.”

Digory’s pen stopped.

“With whom?” he asked.

Dr. Khatibi met his gaze. “With Miss Windleblossom.”

Mic

Agustí de Erbtide Green

I was called just after they announced another death.

The kind that steals expression from a room.

Aurora Windleblossom had been found in the corridor adjacent to the health minister’s quarters. A bottle of pills lay spilled at her feet. A whiskey glass sat empty beside her. She rested against a vanity mirror as if she’d simply fallen asleep.

That’s what it looked like.

But she had no pulse. Her skin was already cold.

Isso não está parecendo bom.

“Lord de Erbtide Green,” the inspector said, shaking my hand with practiced firmness. “It’s a pleasure. Your family stands in the highest regard with our Queen—Madame Victoria Elizabeth Henry II.”

I nodded and removed my coat as I sat. “Agustí is fine, Mr. Digory.”

“Oh please,” he waved it off. “Matthew.”

“Very well, Matthew.” I adjusted my cuffs and settled into the chair opposite him. The pirate lingered behind me, watching. His presence was deliberate. Noted.

“It’s a fleeting tragedy,” I said evenly, “when lovers fall.”

Matthew’s brows lifted. “You knew they were married?”

“Sim. My family attended their wedding. One of the finest of the season. I hadn’t realized aristocrats celebrated quite like royalty.”

Matthew laughed. “Care for tea, Agustí?”

“May I?” I asked. “Forgive me—I’ve not often been this close to death.”

He signaled to the pirate, who returned with two cups of dandelion-mint tea. As he set them down, I noticed the ring on his hand. A crest.

Windleblossom’s.

I sipped and smiled politely. “My apologies, Inspector. Was there something you wished to ask?”

“Oh yes.” He set his cup down a bit too firmly. “After seeing so many faces before yours, I admit—I relaxed.”

I returned the smile. “No worries, amigo.”

“Agustí,” Matthew said, adjusting his glasses. “You know Virginia Rose?”

“Yes.” My body stiffened before I could stop it.

“What is she to you?”

“Now?” I answered plainly. “The woman trying to steal what’s mine.”

Silence. Clean. Expectant.

“So Miss Rose and Miss Desjardins are involved?” he asked.

“Not if I can help it,” I said. “My eyes have been closed far too long.”

“Ah,” Matthew said lightly. “To be young.” Then, gentler: “What can you tell me about both women?”

“Virginia,” I tasted the name—bitter after years. “She’s the kind of lover who grows bored once she’s succeeded. It takes serious money to keep her attention.”

“And Claudette,” I continued, without hesitation, “may be timid—but her heart is full. One look from her captures my devotion entirely. How could I not love her?”

Matthew nodded once. “Any relation to the deceased?”

“Which one?” I asked.

“Windleblossom.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “She is Claudette’s birth mother.”

The pirate let out a low whistle. “Didn’t know I was guarding royalty.”

I chuckled softly. “She wrote Claudette once. A long letter. Explained she would have cared for her—had politics allowed. She loved a colored man. A scandal she couldn’t survive.”

I looked away, unwilling to recall the pain that memory carved into Claudette’s face.

“I would give my life to keep her content,” I said. “Even if that means tolerating Virginia—whatever shape that takes.”

“I assume Claudette was adopted,” Matthew said.

“Yes. By a respected French family in the countryside. She earned everything since—through her writing. Her second book was recently published.”

Matthew reached into his coat and produced a worn copy. “I know. I’ve been reading. A bit vulgar for my taste,” he admitted, “but sustained. Honest.”

“Indeed,” I said, pride warming my chest. “She is the crown jewel of romance.”

Kiy

Claudette Desjardins

The waiting room emptied once the interviews began. The boat rocked steadily through the Nile, as if the night itself hadn’t changed.

But it had.

Two possible futures sat in my mind, existing at once, and I didn’t like either of them.

Pas un peu.

“Can we talk?”

Her voice startled me. Virginia stood over me, and my journal slipped from my hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud. When she bent to pick it up, crouching low, my eyes betrayed me—drawn where they shouldn’t be.

Mon ami, Claud.

Now was not the time for this. For her. For my body remembering things my heart had buried.

I snatched the journal back too quickly, averting my gaze.

“I’m sorry if I misled you,” she said, twisting her new commitment around her finger. “But I always knew I was going to be married. With a man.”

The words landed clean. Surgical.

“Is that all?” I huffed, flipping through the pages of my journal as if her fingerprints had stained them. They hadn’t—but the hurt screamed anyway, loud and insistent.

“No.” She sat beside me, studying my face. Then she took my hands, threading her fingers through mine, magnetized and deliberate. “I want… I was wondering—”

I looked up. She bit her lip.

I hated when she did that.

“Rose,” I said quietly. “Qu’est-ce que c’est ?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled my face into hers and kissed me like she was running out of time. My eyes stayed open, shock freezing me in place—until my body caved, traitorous and aching. I held her the way I’d imagined too many nights before. Her breath tangled with mine. Her tongue found mine.

I was already lost.

A throat cleared.

We broke apart instantly. She gasped and shoved me away, as if I were the one who’d crossed a line.

Agustí swept into the room, his gaze passing over Virginia as if she weren’t there at all.

“Meu lar,” he said calmly. “They’re ready for you.”

“Yes—I—” I stood too fast, brushing at nothing, desperate to look composed while everything inside me fractured. “Let’s go.”

The walk to the office led down a narrow corridor. It wasn’t silent—not with my heart pounding loud enough to echo off the walls. Agustí walked ahead of me, steady, measured. I followed, trying to gather the pieces of myself.

Just before the office door, he stopped.

He turned. I nearly collided with him.

Without a word, he guided me gently toward the corner just out of sight of the entrance—a small, shadowed wedge of privacy in an otherwise exposed night. My back met the wall. I held my breath.

He studied me carefully, as though measuring how much of me was still intact.

“I’m sorry,” I began.

He didn’t let me finish. His mouth found mine, quiet and certain, stealing the apology before it could fully form. His hands settled at my hips.

Each kiss was deliberate. Slow. Reassuring.

“Agustí,” I whispered, half warning, half surrender.

“You’re not very good at hiding from me,” he murmured, lifting me slightly so my back pressed more firmly against the wall. His forehead rested briefly against mine. “I love you, meu lar. Whatever your move is, I’m behind you. I said I would be. Until the end.”

My pulse throbbed between us. Something wailing like hymn choosing solidarity.

We parted reluctantly, both of us breathing heavier than we should have been for a corridor outside an interrogation room. He adjusted my sleeves, smoothed my hair with a careful hand, restoring order.

“There. Off you go.” he said softly. “Bonne chance.”

I knocked, even though I knew they were expecting me.

“Come in, Miss Desjardins.”

The inspector didn’t look up immediately. I stepped inside, peeling off my gloves one finger at a time, unbuttoning the bottom of my vest to breathe.

They stood exactly where they belonged. The inspector behind the desk. The pirate by the window.

It felt like a story unraveling its threads without my consent.

“Bonne nuit, Mr. Digory. Mr. Black.”

“Good evening,” the inspector replied. Bearded Black tipped his hat.

A pen clicked. A quiet exhale.

“Let’s start from the beginning.”

So I did.

I told him about the adoption. How, at fifteen, Aurora Windleblossom sent a letter claiming I was her daughter. The timing had been unsettling. I had just won my first writing competition; my name had begun to circulate.

Wildfire is fast. Reputation faster.

“My parents,” I said carefully, “believed I had the right to know her. À des fins intensives. But I didn’t want to. I was happy. I didn’t need my past interrupting my future.”

I folded my hands in my lap.

“I wasn’t rich. But I wasn’t poor either. Wealth has more than one currency.”

“Windleblossom was a complicated woman,” the inspector said. “But I don’t believe she was chasing your rising fame.”

“I know she wasn’t,” I answered. “It was a protection letter. The more known I became, the more people would look backward. She knew that.”

“Do you have the letter?”

I hesitated only a second before retrieving it from inside my vest. He handled it carefully. The pirate leaned over his shoulder, reading in silence.

“You refused to live with her?”

“Oui. It was kind, perhaps. But she was a stranger. London was foreign. I had a life already.”

“Did that refusal create tension?”

“Yes.” My voice steadied. “After she married the minister, she said she wanted a family. She knew she could not have children again.”

The inspector nodded, flipping the letter over once more.

Then, without warning, he held it close to the flame of a candle.

“Que fais-tu?!” I stepped forward. “Don’t burn it!”

“It’s not destruction,” he said calmly. “It’s revelation.”

Heat licked the paper. Faint lines began to surface—ink blooming where there had been none.

Coordinates.

The three of us stared.

“I don’t know what that means,” I admitted.

“I do,” the inspector replied softly, handing the letter back. “It means this evening was never the end of anything. It was a beginning.”

The room felt smaller.

“Inspector,” I said, rising slowly. “Am I guilty?”

“No, Miss Desjardins.”

He studied me, not unkindly.

“You accepted this invitation after years of denying inheritance and status. That does not read as ambition.”

His pen clicked again.

Prologue

The Night Took Off ✈️

| MIC

The Uber drops me at the curb, and for a second my own house looks unfamiliar. Six weeks away will do that.

Too long out of the country.

Too long without her.

National Geographic called me last minute, and any other year I would’ve hesitated. But Kiy didn’t even blink—told me to go, told me to chase a story. So I did. And it was worth it. I came back with a duffel stuffed with memories and souvenirs.

But all of that can wait.

I’m home, and the only person I want to see is—

“Kiyanna.”

Her name slipped out of me like a prayer I didn’t realize my mouth remembered.

She comes out the door full-speed, roller-set hair under an orange net, full glam on her face, and the brightest smile I’ve seen in weeks.

“You’re finally home!”

She jumped into my arms and I caught her easily, lifting her until her laughter hit my neck. When I set her down, I take her in properly.

She looks so beautiful.

Almost too beautiful.

My brows pulled together. “Going somewhere?”

“Sort of.” She linked her arm through mine as we walked inside. “Well—we are. If you’re not too tired.”

“I’m not,” I tell her. “I would’ve prepared if I kn—”

I stopped talking when I saw the mess.

Designer dresses lined like a boutique in my den.

Makeup spilled across the kitchen island like a sponsored battlefield. It’s chaos, hers specifically, and she had the nerve to give me the cutest apologetic look that ends time.

But—she’s my lady.

The one I crossed oceans for. Being away from time on end never hit me this hard until now. Because I knew exactly who I left behind.

“I picked an outfit for you,” she admitted, sheepish but proud. “It’s hanging in your closet.”

I covered my face and laughed. “Remind me why you didn’t want to share one?”

She gives me that look—the one that says you know exactly why—and gestures at the walking department store around us. I pulled her close anyway. Because I needed her contact. A reminder that she's real, so I can breathe again.

“Mic?” she asked softly, tilting her head up as I kissed her forehead. “You okay?”

“Yeah, more than okay. ” I told her. My hand slipped to her waist.

“I’m finally home.”

She’s heaven underneath me.

When her eyelashes fluttered up, she looked worried. She wiggled out of my hold, reached for the phone, and her eyes widened. I stretched my arms over my head, satisfied with a plan I had since boarding the airplane.

She wasn’t leaving this house tonight.

The world can wait a day.

Kiy heaved a sigh, tossing her phone back onto the nightstand.

“Autumn is going to kill me,” she muttered. But her laugh at the end eased my mind.

“Tell her that you had better plans.” I showed her all my teeth as she playfully pushed me.

“I’m serious Mic.” She said, “No one knows you’re back yet. You only told me.”

“I know.”

I wanted it to stay that way. But knowing our friends in fresh relationship water, it wouldn’t. “If I’d stayed the full eight weeks, you would’ve had the force looking for me.”

She smiled, a smile that hasn’t faded since I returned.

“And it would’ve been worth it.”

“Just like what happened to make you miss the press conference.”

“Okay, charmer.” She threw some makeup wipes at me. “Help get hours of makeup off me.”

“Didn’t I help that a little?”

“All the way!”

She was serious when she grabbed my robe and strutted towards our double-door bathroom. The robe pulled from the right and even slid into place.

I chuckled, putting on my boxers and snapping the band in place. I picked up the unopened pack of makeup wipes and followed her. She was patiently waiting, and despite my best efforts, her makeup was still spotless and fully glam.

She caught me up on her activities while I was gone. We had an unspoken routine: I focused on the right side of her face, and she took care of the left.

“Nothing much happened,” she replied to my question, smearing off creases below her eyes I’d overlooked. I know she doesn’t expect perfection from me, but she still wanted me involved. “I did some editing. We released our new print the night before. That’s what you were reading.”

Man—my girlfriend was truly amazing. The “girlfriend” rang in my ear until I focused on another question, “Did you actually interview Michelle Obama and Kamala Harris for the same issue?”

She smiled so diabolically, my briefs went stiff. “Sure did. And received so many approvals. The Morning Sun said it was our most ground-breaking issue yet.”

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” I said.

I thought moving her to a new place was a lot on her. But she proved me wrong. She kept herself busy. There’s this dream she had about starting her own business. And she handled the challenges with ease—networked, crowdfunded. Within a few months, Poetic Ink Co, was born. A black magazine that became extremely popular in our community.

We fought before.

But there were small disagreements.

We didn’t let them escalate.

We always found our way back to each other.

Whole and complete.

“What about you?” she asked, glancing at me in the mirror as I pulled a stool to sit next to her. “You were really stoked about that trip.”

“Stoked?” I mimicked, laughing instantly. “You can easily pick up lingo wherever you go.”

“Blame the army,” she chuckled in agreement. A modern chameleon, I suppose. The army brat factor certainly counts for something. It instilled in her with remarkable resilience, and I knew she was already incredibly brilliant.

No. She’s extraordinary.

“Yes, it was stoked. Like you said.”

I finished by my side and threw the rest of the used wipes in the trash bin. Then I got up to get my camera bag laying on our sofa bench.

“Here. Check out the receipts.”

She held a couple of cameras in her lap, face freshly washed. Her flushed dewy skin was my favorite thing. And I was anxiously waiting until she was done browsing.

“Whoa! This shot of the lion’s legs is lethal.” Her hand hit the zoom button, eyes brightening further. “He was obviously hunting.”

“Or running home,” I joked. “A lioness runs the male there.”

“Are you trying to win my favor?”

She flipped through more pictures. The sequence shifted from animals to plants to expansive landscapes, captured between two cameras.

“You have a remarkable appreciation for life. I can sense it through your photographs.”

“Who’s really spoiling who?”

I quickly took the cameras from her hands and helped her up, for her to sit on my lap. I knew she felt I was hard. And I wanted her to.

“Call it a mutually beneficial atonement.”

“Quit teasing me.” I warned her, my lips trailing her neck.

I felt her shudder, she gripped the top of my hair, her fingers dancing through my curls. We engaged in this playful game for a while, exchanging tantalizing touches to see who would succumb first. This game only made us hornier.

“Micah?” She called my name like honey, and I almost unleashed everything.

“Hmm?” I worked my best sleepy voice. She squirmed. So it succeeded.

“I’ve missed you…” Her words left me feeling fuzzy and warm.

“Fuck.” I said, then took a beat further.

“Please show me how much.”

Her eyes widened before she began to move, sliding my boxers to the floor along with her body.

As her hands stroked my dick, my eyes fell back, releasing the weight of the world. It pulsed for her and then jumped. Her mouth wrapped around the tip, slowly sinking deeper, her tongue curling around the sides.

For a moment, it was just her mouth and me. Then, she groped my jewelry, kissed the bottom of my dick before pulling me back in. My veins pulsed with electricity, and my blood boiled. She was so good at devouring me whole.

It felt…consuming. Incredibly memorable.

I had forgotten how this felt. I had forgotten what she was capable of, but I was quickly reminded when her lips came close in a matter of minutes.

“Cho-stop,” my patois erupted. Her eyes were alert, surprised. She hadn’t heard it in a while. “yuh ah go mash mi clean.”

She giggled, unhandled me, then rose up slowly to kiss me over and over. “Sorry. Kind of got lost in it.”

“Don’t ever apologize,” I responded. “Cause I know the feeling.”

My fingers pulled her robe open, pooling around both of us. My hands got a good grip on her ass before lifting her on the marbled dual sink in front. I placed her hands around my neck to prepare her.

Prologue

The Night the Cameras Missed ———>

| KIY

Mic is flipping through my freshly printed magazine on our conversational couch.

I practically begged him to purchase it—a moss green velvet plush that outlines our clear quartz coffee table.

His legs stretched, effortlessly, reaching out without much thought. His ankles crossed underneath. Coiled coffee hair strands reached the middle of his face. Didn’t think it could get any longer but he always had to prove me wrong.

And I'm glad he did. This time. Because he looked so good. I mean—really good. His beard shaded near his lip, and his gold tee hung lower and beaded. Bronze skin blended into a deep mahogany after his return.

And I couldn’t stop picturing him with less clothes.

He was pressed.

Went along with an outfit I had ready—a cream colored button up and black slacks. He had it open slightly at the top as if it was a dare. I didn’t let it get to me. His wrists were free, except for a golden strap watch. His tattoos glistened under orange absence.

He always lit a fire in me, one that started low then pulsed as our bodies became close.

“Mmm,” Mic groaned, stretching his arms unreasonably high above his head. His voice steadied as almond eyes shifted across the page. “You keep staring at me, we won’t leave for your press conference.”

“I wasn’t—“

His stare was maddening. A dead cut that pierced my heart and silenced my voice. I smiled, mischievous. Then I walked toward him, letting my mahogany dress trail behind me before I placed his cup of earl grey on the table.

The magazine falls from his hands, completely forgotten. His arms reached out and pulled me into his chest. God, he felt like the sun. Then he insisted on holding my legs into his lap, unclamping my emerald Louis Vuitton stilettos. He did something I didn’t expect and started to massage me. From my toes to my thighs.

As he kissed my neck slowly, I pushed his chest. “Your tea will get cold.”

“Don’t need it,” he muttered, purposefully pressing his lips against my ear. My moans only worsened the situation. “I have something better.”

“Micah.”

“Kiyanna.” Mic almost sounded annoyed. “You really gonna stop me now?”

My lip bite gave me away. He knew what I wanted since he was home. And I knew there was no way I could ever say no to him…. while he was so close to my skin.

“Alright,” I said, “You can have me, anyway you want.”

Mic sat up at my declaration, then held me into his arms so my body was perfectly aligned across them. I squealed like some preppy school girl.

“Finally. Something we can see eye to eye on.

How did I end up letting him win?

Again?

Oh yeah.

Pure seduction.

He gazed at me with those adoring eyes and groaned like a madman. As if I was something to be devoured. Then tore my dress off my body, like I was too holy for clothes.

Oh, yes, I remember.

Micah is mine.

We’ve been together for almost a full year. He’d just returned in time to celebrate our anniversary. I didn’t mind the Barbados trip. Yes, I missed him and yes every second we were apart, I had to make sure I didn’t obsessively claw my eyes out. But he came home safely.

And right now, that’s all that matters.

Did matter. It was hard to keep my thoughts in order with him kissing every inch of my body until there was no room left.

We pulled apart only for him to undress the last of his clothes, my eyes stared. Of course they did. He was sexy.

Not completely covered in tattoos, but enough to pull my gaze. Every dark ink was a unique piece of art that I needed to memorize. His black briefs were tight, molding his legs and something else.

My eyes stopped there.

“You’re too quiet for me,” he teased. “We’ll remedy that.”

“Oh yeah?” I teased him. “Then why am I still alone in our bed?”

I spun around our golden silk sheets, feeling like I was in a land of honey. My body was fully exposed, but it was still glassy from the heavy shea butter I applied hours earlier. It was his favorite scent—warm and buttery, with a hint of cinnamon.

He moved around me in a flash, and my breath didn’t resume. He smelled like a dark forest—my favorite scent, mahogany cedar mint. Our bodies molded and our legs tangled in between. Silence wrapped around us like a warm blanket.

Then Mic spoke first. “You’ve been taunting me ever since you entered the room.”

I gasped dramatically. “I hadn't realized you were paying that close attention.”

“I’ll always pay that close attention,” His words hung in the air like a warning, “for you.”

“Then let me shut you up,” I whispered as he lowered his body, my legs hanging over his shoulder. I braced myself, but nothing happened.

“What?”

“Kiy,” He called out to me.

Suddenly, desire was replaced with fear. I sat up, panicked. Did my period come? Was I off by a few days?

No, it wasn’t that. He touched my recent tattoo and I winced.

“When did you get that?”

“Oh. Umm. Maybe it was the second day you left. Or the day after that.”

“And you hadn’t thought to tell me?” He said it as more of a curiosity than a concern.

Still, I hadn’t planned to hide it from him. It just slipped my mind when my work was thrown into chaos trying to get the magazine ready.

Then, his fingers began moving around the tattoo. It throbbed more than it hurt. It had to be about six weeks old now. That’s how long he was gone.

“I was feeling…..adventurous.”

His laugh vibrated against my skin, small kisses adjoining them. “Adventurous huh? Well … it’s sexy as hell. And the fact it’s something I drew makes it—“

“Worthwhile?” I mused, as he seized this moment to tease me even further. His tongue licked all around my thigh, except for the ink.

“Makes you mine.”

His eyes locked onto mine as his mouth kissed my bud. He kissed it gently, and I clutched the sheets before his tongue slowed down time.

“I’m… already yours.”

My words hung in the air, trailing off between my moans.

“Yeah, you are.”

He grinned softly against my pussy as he played a dance with his fingers, groping in and out of me.

“But seeing my symbol on your body… awakens something else in me, something unforgiving.”

It was an unsettling sensation, but before I could even inquire, his mouth consumed me, and my back arched with pleasure. My hands moved swiftly, grasping his hair.

“Mic—“ I gasped loudly.

Then, the phone rang, neither of us moved. He was too engrossed in showing me how much I belonged to him, while I was too busy outwardly rewarding him.

The answering machine played, with an alarmingly loud voice.

You’ve reached Kiy and Mic—drop your words like truth, and we might catch ’em on the way back. A’ight?

Beep!

“Kiyanna! Where the hell are you?”

My eyes bulged out from my head, knowing that disappointment belonged to Autumn. Her voice continued with, “I’m attracting so much press and their golden star isn’t here—“

Mic clicked the button, unperturbed by the situation.

“I… gotta… go.”

My voice trembled as his tongue lingered on my other lips, and my arousal grew. My legs shook visibly, his hand clutched my curves and folds tightly.

“Mmm-mm,” his voice muffled, busy. After my excruciating release, his mouth pressed against my leg, the one without the tattoo.

He stood to remove his briefs and toss them aside.

Kiy’s Letter

For Micah,

My Mic —

In times when you don’t really know what to say, I hope this letter comes as a relief — a sigh, an olive branch in the best way.

| I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. |

And in every lifetime, I’ve hoped that one day we’d find our way back to each other.

I did hope, but this time… I wasn’t so sure. I ran from this because I was afraid of how open you’d make me — of how every moment would collide into one big choice that finally came to me.

Yes or no.

Yes or no.

Yes… or no?

Eventually, I just screamed go.

And even though my logic never agreed, my heart fell into yours — and for the first time, I could finally breathe.

You make me feel alive.

There’s this humming pulse every time you gently clutch my wrist, or when your arm pulls me in before we kiss. My body awakens — like it remembers each cadence.

I feel warm.

Not the fever kind — more like a soothing bath that lets you drift in and out of consciousness, because you know you’re safe. You know you’re present.

And you coming back to me — that was one of those gifts that felt more than extraordinary. It was heaven-sent.

For the first time, I don’t have to write my world anymore. I’m living in it — with you.

I’m creating moments our kids will grow up hearing about.

You’re more than a song or a melody — you’re the blueprint for what love is supposed to be.

| You are love, Micah. |

And I am grateful — ecstatic —that I get to exist, breathe, and laugh right alongside you.

You are everything.

Rightfully yours,

Kiy