Cynthia twirled the phone between her fingers as Mike entered the living room, his shirt sleeves rolled up and collar loosened, exuding casual dominance even in domesticity.

Ava had just left, her excitement lingering in the air like perfume. Cynthia still felt flushed from their laughter, their tears, and the silent acknowledgment that something inside her had shifted at the boutique that day. She wasn’t just playing the role of a bride anymore—she was beginning to own it.

“You’re late,” she said, looking up with a teasing smile as he approached.

Mike raised a brow, amused. “You look smug. Dangerous.”

“I have proof that I’m the better half in this...