The Billionaire's Brat Wants Me-Chapter 252: A Pause in the Noise

The weekend, though, was easy and smooth.

After the week we'd had—Benjamin Otavio, Vanguard Ark Investments, whispered names and quiet alliances—it felt almost unreal to wake up without urgency clawing at my chest. We were still in the middle of it all, sure. But for once, it felt like we weren't fighting from opposite corners of the world. Me, Val, her dad, Trent, even Detective Quinn—we were moving in the same direction now.

Saturday morning came without alarms.

I was drifting somewhere between sleep and consciousness when I felt something warm and light brushing across my face. Fingertips. Slow. Deliberate. Almost experimental.

I frowned faintly and turned my head, but the fingers followed, tracing my cheek, my jaw, the bridge of my nose like she was mapping familiar terrain.

I groaned.

The fingers didn't stop.

I groaned louder.

That was when she spoke, her voice soft and amused, right above me.

> "Morning, husband."

I cracked one eye open. The room was still blurry, sunlight filtering through the curtains in thin golden lines. Val was propped up on one elbow beside me, her hair falling loose around her shoulders, eyes bright like she'd been awake for hours.

I blinked. Then blinked again.

A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. "Morning."

She watched my face like she was waiting for something else—confirmation, maybe—that I was really awake.

"You're up early," I muttered, voice still rough.

She tilted her head. "It's actually 8:14."

I squinted at her. "That's… early."

She laughed softly. "You realize you wake up at seven on weekdays, right?"

"Weekdays," I stressed, closing my eyes again and rolling onto my back. "My body doesn't understand weekends yet."

She hummed in agreement and shifted closer, her arm draping lazily over my chest. "It's Saturday," she said, almost reverently. "Let's stay in bed a little longer."

I didn't even pretend to argue. "Sure."

She curled into me like she belonged there—because she did—and for a while, neither of us said anything. The quiet wasn't heavy. It was the good kind. The kind you earn after surviving storms together.

I felt her gaze on me again.

"What?" I asked without opening my eyes.

She shook her head slowly. I could feel it against my shoulder. "Nothing."

"That's a lie."

She smiled, I could hear it in her voice. "I was just thinking."

"Dangerous."

She pinched my side lightly. "Rude."

I finally opened my eyes and turned to face her. She was already looking at me, chin resting against my chest, expression soft in a way that always made something in me loosen.

"We actually got married," she said suddenly.

I blinked. "You say that like it's new information."

She shrugged a little. "Sometimes it still feels unreal."

"We've been married for over two years."

"I know," she said. "But there was a time when I thought you'd break up with me."

That caught my attention. I frowned slightly. "Why?"

She hesitated, fingers absently tracing patterns on my shirt. "Because I was… a lot. Too much, maybe."

I let out a small breath. "Me too."

She stiffened immediately. "You too?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

Her eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"What?" I said, already smiling. "It's true."

She pulled back just enough to look at me properly. "You're telling me you thought about breaking up with me?"

"Briefly," I admitted. "Very briefly."

She gasped, dramatic and offended. "I cannot believe this."

"You hijacked my life schedule."

> "You loved it."

"I was delirious."

She narrowed her eyes, then snorted despite herself. "Unbelievable."

We both laughed, the sound quiet and warm and familiar.

Then she grew softer again. "Why didn't you?"

I tilted my head. "Didn't what?"

"Break up with me," she said quietly. "Back then. When I was… a headache."

I considered it for a moment, staring at the ceiling, the answer settling in my chest like it always had.

"Because somewhere along the way," I said slowly, "I realized I didn't want a life that didn't include you. Even when you were exhausting. Especially then."

She went very still.

I looked back at her, and she was staring at me like I'd just said something dangerous.

"So you're saying I was a headache," she said flatly.

I laughed. "A brilliant one."

She stared at me for a beat longer, then broke into a smile that was all warmth and fond exasperation. "You're lucky I love you."

"I know."

She leaned in and kissed me—soft, unhurried—before murmuring against my lips, "Love you too."

I smiled, my arms tightening around her without thinking.

For that moment, the world could wait.

---

Val didn't let the peace last long.

Kinda

I was just starting to drift again, that soft space where sleep feels optional, when the covers were suddenly yanked off me. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

> "Kai."

I groaned and rolled onto my stomach. "Five more minutes."

She climbed onto the bed like that wasn't a ridiculous escalation and planted both hands on my back. "It's nine."

"So?"

"So you promised we'd actually do something today."

"I am doing something," I mumbled into the pillow. "I'm resting."

She leaned closer, her voice dropping into that dangerously sweet tone. "If you don't get up, I'm opening the curtains."

My eyes flew open. "You wouldn't."

She was already halfway to the window.

"Val," I warned.

The curtains slid open in one smooth motion, sunlight flooding the room like an accusation.

I groaned loudly. "Traitor."

She turned back to me, hands on her hips, very pleased with herself. "Good morning."

"You're evil," I said, sitting up reluctantly.

She smiled wider. "And you married me anyway."

I rubbed my face and sighed. "That was false advertising."

She leaned down and kissed my temple. "Get up. We're making breakfast."

I frowned. "Aline—"

"I told her not to," she said immediately.

Of course she did.

I glanced at the clock again. "You told her not to prepare breakfast?"

> "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because," she said, dragging me by the wrist toward the bathroom, "we're doing it together."

I stumbled after her. "Val, you know I'm perfectly fine with eating whatever Aline makes."

> "That's not the point."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is this another one of your 'bonding exercises'?"

She shot me a look. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"I say that like last time it involved color-coded sticky notes."

She laughed and pushed me into the bathroom. "Relax. This one is fun."

"I don't trust that sentence."

She turned on the shower and looked back at me with a smile that made something in my chest warm. "I want to do something with my husband that doesn't involve spreadsheets, financial models, or corporate espionage."

I paused.

She lifted her chin slightly. "I win."

I smiled despite myself. "You planned that."

> "Obviously."

I sighed in defeat. "Fine. You win."

She clapped once. "Good. Now take off your clothes."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

> "I'm bathing you."

I laughed. "You're what?"

She started unbuttoning my shirt like this was already decided. "You heard me."

"Val—"

"Kai," she interrupted, very serious now, "you've been tense all week. This is happening."

I laughed again, but I didn't stop her.

And yes, yes she did.

By the time we finally made it downstairs, my hair was still damp, and I felt lighter than I had in days.

The kitchen was quiet. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the counters, the fruit bowl, the familiar space that somehow always felt warmer when she was in it.

She tied an apron around her waist and tossed one at me. "Put it on."

I stared at it. "You're joking."

She crossed her arms. "Do it."

I put it on.

She smiled triumphantly. "Good husband."

"What are we making?" I asked.

"Pancakes. Eggs. Something unhealthy."

I nodded approvingly. "I support this."

She moved around the kitchen with easy confidence, pulling ingredients from cabinets, humming softly. At some point, music started playing from her phone—low, cheerful.

She handed me a bowl. "You mix."

"I knew I'd be demoted."

She grinned. "Earn your way back."

As I whisked the batter, she leaned against the counter, watching me. "You know," she said casually, "you look very domestic right now."

"I refuse to be teased in my own kitchen."

She stepped closer and flicked a bit of flour at me.

I froze.

She smiled slowly. "Oops."

I flicked some back.

That was a mistake.

Five minutes later, we were both laughing, flour on the counter, on the floor, probably in my hair.

"This is why we can't have nice things," I said, flipping a pancake.

She leaned in and kissed my cheek. "This is why we should."

We finally sat down to eat—plates full, coffee steaming between us.

I watched her for a moment as she took her first bite, eyes lighting up like she'd just accomplished something monumental.

And I thought—quietly, steadily—that no matter what waited for us next—Benjamin Otavio, Vanguard Ark Investments, or even Engr. Julio Santos—mornings like this were worth fighting for.t, mornings like this were worth fighting for.

---

To be continued...