Chapter 2 Chocolate Milk and Cold‑Blooded Men

Five Years Later

The sky outside the window was a flat, bruised gray, snow falling like someone had smudged the world on purpose. My hand slid across the cold, empty side of the bed—a sure sign Zade was already up.

Of course he was. The man woke before the sun like he was racing the universe.

I groaned into the pillow. “ “Leave your wife in bed and go save the world.”

After cursing the morning for a few more seconds, I gave in to reality. Bare feet met cold marble as I headed for the bathroom. The lights blinked on automatically, throwing my wreck of a face into the mirror. My hair puffed out like a lion that had lost a fight and my eyes… let’s just say Zoey would call me a zombie who hadn’t moved on.

Cold water splashed over my face, steadying the heartbeat that always spiked at dawn. I moved through skincare, the expensive routine I stuck with not for youth but because Zoey once told me I looked “cracked” without serum. Four years old and already a beauty cop.

I padded downstairs, past the sweeping spiral staircase draped in hanging plants and bookshelves no one touched but me. Coffee drifted through the air, mingling with the scent of pine sneaking in from a cracked window.

A small voice reached me before anything else.

“Daddy, this one doesn’t fit. It’s dumb.”

I slowed at the edge of the living room. The thick gray carpet was half-buried under a riot of colored Legos. In the middle of it sat Zoey—round, blunt bangs, squeezed into a unicorn pajama top that had given up on her stomach.

Zade sat on the floor in a dark T-shirt and joggers, tattooed arms resting loosely on his knees, leaning toward her with a patience I didn’t have even for houseplants.

“It’s not dumb, baby,” he said, turning a Lego piece in his hand. “You’re trying to connect a circle to a square. They’re not supposed to fit.”

Zoey squinted. “Then the square is stupid.”

A soft laugh rumbled out of him, the kind only two people in this house ever heard. “Don’t tell that to the architecture industry.”

Then her little blue eyes swung to me and narrowed even harder. “Mommy,” she said, courtroom serious. “You’re late.”

I lifted my hands. “Guilty. What’s my sentence, Your Honor?”

Zoey stood with her arms crossed, belly pushing out like a preschool gang boss. “Breakfast. Now.”

Zade rose slowly, his body moving like a threat wrapped in casual Armani. His eyes, deep blue, like midnight over pine trees, flicked to me, then down to my mouth. He leaned in, brushed a kiss against my forehead like it was nothing, like he hadn’t been holding my entire world in his hands for years.

“Good morning,” he murmured, then headed toward the kitchen with Zoey marching behind him, still ranting about how her waffles had better be star-shaped instead of dumb circles like her Legos.

I stood there for a few beats, watching their backs—one big, one small—both running my life in ways I’d never asked for but couldn’t push away.

Zade Solenzara.

A man who could silence a room with a glance. Yet here, in this house, he washed dishes in an alpaca apron and let our daughter perch on his shoulders while combing his hair like they were playing salon.

Anyone who saw him outside would call him a devil. They wouldn’t be wrong. But apparently even devils could love.

I exhaled hard and walked toward the kitchen, muttering under my breath.

“Breakfast for two tyrants. Great. My day starts with domestic terror.”

////

The kitchen was too neat for a house with a four‑year‑old, but I was too tired to care. My hands went on autopilot, grabbing a spatula, a pan, and eggs from the fridge while noting I needed more coffee than love this morning.

Zoey sat on a tall stool at the island, her chubby legs swinging forward and back, sometimes almost kicking the cabinet. Her black hair was tied up in a crooked knot, bangs tilted like a war casualty, and her face..God, that face, looked smug, like a boss about to give a weekly report.

“Mommy!” Her high‑pitched voice cut through the room like an alarm. “Guess what? Connor picked his nose yesterday and stuck it under his desk. Ew! Miss Helen didn’t see. I told on him.”

I half‑turned. “So you’re a tattletale now?”

“Nope.” She shrugged and sipped milk through a flamingo straw. “It’s just gross. Who leaves boogers like that? Daddy thinks it’s gross too, right?”

Zade, standing by the fridge pouring chocolate milk into Zoey’s unicorn cup, shot me a lazy glance like he’d just remembered I existed.

“Let’s just say boogers under the desk aren’t my aesthetic.”

Zoey nodded hard. “See? Daddy gets it.”

I rolled my eyes and flicked on the stove. Butter hit the hot pan with a hiss, filling the air with that warm, golden smell. Zoey swayed side to side, moving to a song only she could hear.

Zade came closer, set the cup in front of her, then leaned against the counter. I didn’t dare stare too long. Early mornings, with his dark hair a mess and that faint shadow on his jaw, he was too dangerous for my nervous system. His T‑shirt stretched over his shoulders, tattooed arm brushing the spoon near me.

“Waffles or pancakes?” I asked, skipping the pleasantries.

“Pancakes,” Zoey answered fast. “But not circles. I want a cat. Or a dinosaur. Not the kind that eats people though. Daddy’s scared of those.”

Zade’s expression barely moved. “I am not afraid of dinosaurs.”

Zoey slurped her milk. “You screamed when we watched Jurassic Park.”

“Because you threw popcorn in my eye.”

She grinned. “Still funny.”

I poured batter into the pan, trying for a cat shape, failing, and ending up with something more like an amoeba with ears.

“If Daddy’s really scared of dinosaurs,” I muttered, “I may need to rethink my security standards.”

Zade reached for my untouched coffee, took a sip without asking, then handed it back. “Too much creamer. You trying to kill me with diabetes?”

I took it back and drank too. “What if I am?”

“Then give me one last kiss first,” he said easily, blue eyes flicking to my mouth.

Zoey banged her spoon on the counter. “Ugh. You two. I want food, not a rom‑com.”

Zade laughed, a low sound that scared adults more than it comforted them, but in front of Zoey it turned into the safest noise in the world. His hand slid over her head, pushing her bangs away from her eyes.

I flipped the pancake with enough grace not to embarrass myself and set the plate in front of Zoey. She immediately leaned over, wrapping her arms around my waist, cheek pressed to my stomach.

“Mommy’s the best.”

I froze for a second, then ruffled her hair. “I know.”

Zade stood behind me now, his breath brushing my neck. “She gets it from you.”

“Pancake skills or sarcasm?”

“Both.”

And with snow still falling outside, butter in the air, chocolate milk on the counter, and a chatterbox at the table, it hit me, this was probably domestic hell. But somehow, I still wanted to stay in it.