The Billionaire's Brat Wants Me

The weekend finally came, Sunday.

I'd completely forgotten we were supposed to go anywhere. But of course, a certain someone hadn't.

Somewhere between that half-awake blur where you're not sure if you're still dreaming or just pretending to sleep, I was subconsciously deciding between prolonging my comfort or surrendering to consciousness when I felt a persistent tug on my arm.

"Husband, husband, wakey wakey. It's Sunday. Husband…"

Her voice was soft, melodic, and way too awake for a Sunday morning. I groaned and rolled to the other side of the bed, face buried in the pillow. "Five more minutes, okay?"

There was silence, too much silence. Which should've been my first warning.

Then, Something clattered softly against the floor, followed by her sudden 'Ouch!' that made me sit up before I even thought about it.

"Val?" I blinked hard, my heartbeat catching up to my panic. "What's wrong?"

She was sitting by the edge of the bed, holding her elbow with her other hand and a pitiful frown on her face. "My hand hit the—"

I didn't even let her finish. I was already leaning closer, carefully taking her arm. "Where are you hurt? Is it here?" I asked, running my fingers gently over her skin.

She winced for half a second before her lips twitched. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

I looked up, and sure enough, there it was. That mischievous glint in her eyes, the one that always appeared right before she said or did something that made me question every decision that led me to loving her this much.

And then, softly—almost guiltily—she added, "Since you're up…"

I exhaled slowly, staring at her. "Really?"

Her lips parted in a guilty smile. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, though the apology didn't reach her eyes. "But you didn't want to wake up."

"So you pretended to be hurt?"

She bit her lip and nodded, almost sheepishly. "Just a little."

I dragged a hand down my face and sighed. "You're impossible."

"I know," she said brightly, as if it were a compliment. "But if we don't get ready soon, we'll be late."

"Late for—" I started, and she pointed toward the clock on the nightstand.

10:47 a.m.

Right. Naomi.

"I forgot," I muttered under my breath.

Of course I did. I'd stayed up late the night before, trying to wrap up some loose ends on the Meridian reports. It wasn't like I was on a timer, but the looming deadlines always managed to crawl into the back of my head, even on weekends.

Val, of course, had already taken her bath, hair still slightly damp, soft curls brushing her shoulders. She was dressed in a white button-up tucked into beige shorts, casual but effortlessly perfect in that Val way that made "simple" look like a designer ad.

She tilted her head now, voice soft again. "Are you still mad?"

I looked at her for a moment, the pout, the big eyes pretending to be sorry. Then shook my head. "No."

Her entire expression switched from guilt to sunshine. "Good! Now go take your bath. I'll be in the kitchen."

She bounced off the bed and bent down to pick up the small wooden tray she'd dropped earlier, the same one she must've brought in from the kitchen when she came to wake me. The sound of it hitting the floor had clearly been part of her grand plan. She dusted it off lightly, pretending it was nothing, before flashing me a quick grin and slipping out of the room.

And just like that, she was gone, humming under her breath.

I leaned back against the headboard, rubbing a hand over my face, watching her disappear around the corner. The faint sound of her voice carried through the hallway a second later—probably talking to Duchess and Aline about breakfast like she always did.

I couldn't help but smile.

That was Val. The same woman who could make my heart skip a beat and stop it entirely, all before I even got out of bed.

And with that thought, I swung my legs off the bed, grabbed a towel, and headed for the shower, ready to face another Sunday with the woman who could trick me awake and make me thank her for it.

---

By the time I stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung loosely around my neck, the faint scent of lavender soap still clinging to the air, I froze mid-step. There, neatly spread out on the bed, was a full outfit—black chinos, a white button-down, and the brown wristwatch I always forgot to wear unless she reminded me.

I didn't need a detective to figure out who was responsible. She must've sneaked back in while I was in the shower, humming to herself, probably rearranging my closet just to pick something that "matched the weather."

I shook my head, smiling to myself. "Unbelievable," I muttered under my breath, though the corner of my lips refused to drop.

After getting dressed, I made my way downstairs. The faint sound of the television drifted through the living room where Aline and Duchess had already claimed the couch. Duchess was perched lazily across Aline's lap, tail flicking in rhythm with whatever sitcom was on.

Aline noticed me first. "Good morning, sir," she said warmly, her tone polite but familiar.

"Morning, Aline," I returned with a smile. "How's the boss of the couch?" I nodded toward Duchess, who barely flicked an ear in acknowledgment.

"She's been up since six," Aline chuckled. "Had breakfast, demanded cuddles, and now she's supervising me."

"Sounds like her usual shift," I said, earning another laugh before continuing toward the kitchen.

The moment I stepped in, I stopped at the doorway, leaning against the counter for a second just to take in the sight.

Val was moving around the kitchen with that graceful precision that made even the simplest motions look rehearsed. She was packing food into a series of containers—some small, some large—each carefully arranged on the counter like she was curating an art display.

"Is it me," I began, arching a brow, "or does the food look a bit too much for three people?"

Without looking up, she replied, "Aline already had breakfast."

I blinked. "Okay?"

Finally, she turned toward me and gestured to a small covered tray by the corner. "That's our breakfast." Then she pointed to the rest of the containers. "These are for the road. In case we get hungry."

"The road," I repeated, glancing at the lineup. "You packed half the kitchen."

"It's a long drive," she countered, securing the lid on another container. "Stopping to find a decent restaurant will take too much time."

I couldn't help it, my smile slipped through. Of course she'd think ahead.

She caught the look immediately, pausing mid-motion to glance at me with that knowing expression. "What?" she asked. "Are you… in awe of my impeccable foresight again?"

"Yes," I said with exaggerated seriousness. "Yes, I am."

She smirked. "Thought so."

The air softened with shared laughter. She brushed past me, tapping my shoulder lightly. "Help me take the breakfast to the table, Mr. Compliments."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, picking up the tray.

Within minutes, the table was set. Steam rose from two bowls of oatmeal, thick and creamy, topped with sliced strawberries, bananas, and a drizzle of honey. On the side sat freshly toasted bread with Val's homemade berry jam and a small plate of apple slices dusted with cinnamon.

If perfection had a scent, it would've been that morning.

She sat opposite me, crossing her legs under the table, and handed me a spoon. "Taste test."

I smirked, taking a bite. Sweet, warm, and comforting.

She watched me closely. "How's it?"

"Just like you," I said after swallowing. "Perfect."

Her eyes gleamed, half amused, half pleased. "Wow. I'm actually speechless."

"First time for everything," I teased.

"Ha-ha," she said flatly, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her amusement.

We shared a quiet moment after that, no words, just the faint clink of spoons and the morning light spilling through the window. Duchess's faint meow echoed from the living room, followed by Aline's voice telling her to behave.

For a moment, it was all so… ordinary. And I realized how much I loved that.

No boardroom chaos. No data sheets. No deadlines. Just Val, breakfast, and the quiet hum of home.

I leaned back, watching her take another bite of oatmeal, her eyes half-lidded with contentment. She looked up and caught me staring.

"What?" she asked softly, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Nothing," I said, grinning. "Just thinking… after six years of dating and almost two years of marriage, mornings like this still don't get old."

Her eyes softened, warmth flickering behind them. "Good," she murmured. "Because I plan to keep it that way."

And with that, the morning continued—easy, effortless, and full of quiet laughter that lingered longer than the taste of breakfast.

For all the work ahead, all the plans and uncertainties, this—her smile, our table, this peace—was the only thing that felt absolutely certain.

---

To be continued...