Jaxton was already exhausted to begin with. He didn't have much strength left in his tired body as he dragged his every step as he climbed out of the car. His driver pulled away, but he barely noticed. His focus had shifted to the house in front of him, to the quiet hum of the night air, to the steady but unexplainable thudding in his chest.
Why was his heart beating so fast?
His fingers instinctively reached for his chest, rubbing the spot as though soothing an ache. It wasn't fatigue, he had endured worse. It wasn't stress, he thrived under pressure. Then what?
Is it because of the woman in the house?
The thought lingered as he dragged his tired body inside.
The moment he stepped into the dimly lit foyer, his feet came to a halt.
Aneira.
She was descending the staircase, one delicate step at a time, her body bathed in the soft golden glow of the chandelier. The nightdress she wore, one he had personally picked out for her was modest, but it hugged her frame in all the right ways, showing the soft curves of her body. The fabric draped around her like it had been tailored just for her, and for the first time, Jaxton found himself agreeing with his mother.
She was the definition of beauty.
His sharp blue eyes followed the length of her, unable to look away. The smooth expanse of her skin glowed against the delicate material, her blonde curls spilling over her shoulders in careless waves. There was something almost unreal about her, as if she had stepped out of a dream and into his home.
A home that suddenly didn't feel so empty anymore.
She hadn't noticed him yet. She had her phone pressed to her ear, her soft voice floating through the space between them.
"Yes, Mom. I'll let him know when he's—"
Then she saw him.
A sharp inhale.
A moment of hesitation.
Her wide grey eyes locked onto his, and for a second, she seemed frozen in place, like a deer caught in headlights. Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone, her lips parting just enough for him to see the way she swallowed, as if steadying herself.
"When he's back," she finished quickly, her voice slightly strained.
Her mother must have said something in response, but Aneira wasn't paying attention anymore. Her focus had shifted entirely to him and to the way he stood there, watching her, unmoving.
She muttered a quick goodbye and ended the call, lowering the phone from her ear.
The silence that followed was thick, charged.
Jaxton's fingers flexed at his sides, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. He had seen her in passing, shared space with her, spoken to her, but this?
This was different.
This was a moment neither of them had expected.
His tongue darted out to wet his lips, but he didn't speak. Neither did she.
The only sound was the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, marking the seconds between them.
"You are back…" Aneira's voice was soft, almost hesitant, but it was enough to pull Jaxton out of his trance.
He blinked, the haze of exhaustion momentarily lifting as his eyes focused on her face.
"Hmm," he hummed in response, his voice deeper than usual, thick with fatigue.
"You seem so tired."
He paused.
He had tried to mask it, straightening his posture, keeping his expression unreadable, but she saw right through him. It was as if she could peel away the layers of his composure with just one glance. A small, unexpected smile appeared on his lips.
This.
This was why he chose her.
He had never been wrong about her.
"Yeah," he admitted, his voice hoarse, as if he was swallowing something heavier than just exhaustion. "I've been working."
As he spoke, he reached up to pull off his jacket, his movements slow and deliberate. But before he could even shrug it off completely, she stepped closer.
"Let me help you," she said.
He barely had time to react before her hands reached for the fabric, her fingers brushing against his shoulders as she carefully eased the jacket off him.
Jaxton stilled.
He could have stopped her. He could have stepped back, waved her off, or said he could handle it himself.
But he didn't.
Instead, he let her.
She moved gently, her touch light but certain. His senses sharpened, every small action feeling strangely intimate. The warmth of her fingers against his arm, the way her eyes flickered up to check if he was comfortable.
"Should I help you run your bath and cook you something?" she asked as she folded his jacket over her arm. "I'm sure you haven't eaten anything today."
His heart clenched, warmth spreading through his chest.
How did she know?
Was she paying attention to him even when he wasn't around?
Jaxton narrowed his eyes slightly, feeling curious.
Is this woman a witch?
Before he could answer, she turned away, already making her way up the stairs.
"I'll run your bath first," she said over her shoulder, not waiting for his reply.
Jaxton watched her disappear up the steps, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.
She was something else.
His feet moved before he could think, following her upstairs and for the first time in a long time, coming home didn't feel so empty.
He knows how empty the house do feel whenever he comes back from work. He would go to the study, take his time before stepping into his room. Sometimes, he would just spend the rest of his night in the study, working and when he was tired, he'd just lie down on the couch and rest for a while before getting ready for work.
His life was entirely boring whenever he was at home.
It was not as if he had someone to date or something. He was just there. But now, he had a wife. A wife that keeps his home and heart interesting.