MasukKyra’s pov I’m halfway through my eggs, humming because Zaire can actually cook, when my phone starts buzzing across the counter. The screen lights up: *Bri, Lex, & Nia – Video Call*. My eyes go wide. “Oh God... not them.” Zaire raises a brow. “What? Answer it.” I give him a look. “They are dramatic.” “That’s fine,” he says, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “I can handle dramatic.” I sigh and swipe to answer. Immediately, three faces pop onto the screen. Bri with her bonnet, Lex in her car somewhere, and Nia still in bed wrapped in a blanket. Bri: “Kyraaa! We calling to check on you because you disappear on us and we haven’t seen you in the group chat.” Lex: “Yes, what happen? You good? The baby good? You good good or pretending-good?” Nia: “And why you look like you just wake up in somebody else bed? Lemme see the sheets!” I nearly choke. “Stop! Y’all too loud! I’m eating!” Bri: “Eating where? That don’t look like your kitchen.” Lex: “Hold on...” S
Kyra’s pov Soft early light slips through the curtains, glowing pale gold across the room. The air is cool, quiet the kind of quiet that only exists right before the day fully wakes up. I stir first. For a moment, I don’t understand why the bed feels so warm... or why my back feels so supported. Then I shift slightly and freeze. Zaire’s arm is around me. Not loosely. Comfortably. Like it found me in the night and didn’t let go. His hand rests on my belly, warm and relaxed, fingers splayed gently over the small curve. My breath catches. I look down at his hand, then feel the way his chest rises and falls behind me. We are fully, undeniably cuddling. My back is pressed into him. His legs tangled with mine. It’s intimate in a way neither of us planned or expected. I swallow, trying not to move too quickly. *We must have rolled over,* I think. *He probably didn’t even notice.* But then I feel it. His thumb moves. Just the smallest, slow gliding motion across m
Kyra pov*** Pieces of broken glass and scattered items scrape across the floor as I sweep them into a dustpan. Zaire’s crouched under the sink, pushing the loose cabinet door back into place. The air is warm and heavy, still humming with everything Savannah left behind. I shake my head, quiet. “Lord... she really fucked up your kitchen.” Zaire gives a low exhale. Doesn’t look at me yet. “Yeah... she did.” He tightens the hinge. “But she needed that release. I could feel it building.” I kneel beside him to pick up the pot she dented when she hurled it at the counter. My hands are still shaky, but I keep my voice steady. “You knew she still liked you?” He sits back on his heels. “I knew she cared. I honestly didn’t know it was that deep... not anymore.” I don’t say anything at first. Just drop the pot into the sink and keep sweeping. The silence isn’t hostile. Just thoughtful. Heavy. He watches me for a second. “You alright?” I shrug, keeping my eyes on the glass. “I
Zaire’s pov***I heard the shower shut off upstairs and exhaled. Maybe we’d get one quiet night. Then the knock hit the front door. Sharp. Impatient. Wrong. I opened it and my stomach dropped. Savannah. Tall, sharp-dressed, looking like she owned the place. Her eyes scanned the foyer, landed on me, then cut straight to the staircase. Kyra stepped out of the bathroom at the same time, wrapped in a towel. The warmth from the shower was still on her skin. I saw her go still the second she saw Savannah. She didn’t know her, but she felt it. The air changed. “Zaire, we need to talk,” Savannah said, stepping inside like she’d been invited. Her voice was all command. I moved immediately, blocking her path. “Savannah, this isn’t the time. You need to leave.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is that the reason? Someone else is here?” I heard Kyra’s breath catch on the stairs. She was frozen, towel clutched to her chest, stuck between running back to the r
Zaire The evening air feels warmer now, like the garden itself knows something’s changed between us. The lanterns catch in Kyra’s eyes, and I swear I’ve never seen them this open. This unguarded. She doesn’t pull away from me. She doesn’t hide. She just sits there, breathing like she’s not afraid of the moment anymore. I brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It’s nothing, just a small touch, but her inhale is sharp enough to wreck me. “You’re tired,” I say quietly. “Let’s go inside. You shouldn’t stay out in the late air too long.” She nods, slow, but I see it in her face. She doesn’t want this to end either. I help her up, catching her when she wobbles. Her hand settles on my arm for balance, and I don’t think she realizes how long she leaves it there. I do. I feel every second. We walk toward the house. Close. Arms brushing. Every step pulling that quiet tension between us tighter. Inside, the lighting is low and the house is quiet. Peaceful. Mine, but
Zaire** The driveway lights throw a warm, golden glow across the hood as I shift into park. For a moment, I do not move. I just sit here, watching Kyra sleep beside me. Her breathing is slow, steady. Her hand still rests protectively over her bump. A faint trace of dried tears marks her cheeks, but even that cannot dim the peaceful softness that has settled over her face. I do not want to wake her abruptly. Leaning slightly toward her, I brush my fingers against her arm. "Kyra," I whisper, my voice low, warm. "We're home." She stirs softly, eyelashes fluttering before her eyes open in slow, sleepy blinks. She looks around, momentarily disoriented. "Oh," she murmurs, clearing her throat. "I didn't mean to fall asleep." "It's alright," I say, giving her a small smile. "You needed the rest." She sits up straighter, smoothing her hair with a self conscious touch. Even through her exhaustion, there is a softness in her eyes like waking up to me watching her some







