ARIANA

I sat at the small dining table in the kitchen, watching Grayson with wide eyes as he moved around the room with surprising ease. The soft scent of garlic, rosemary, and onions filled the air, and I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him wearing an apron, his normally pristine attire now replaced by something more... domestic. He was flipping the steak in a pan, his brow furrowed in concentration, but there was a certain grace in his movements, a calmness I hadn’t expected from a man who usually exuded power and control.

The sight of him in such an ordinary setting—cooking, of all things—had me mesmerised....