Selenia Orisius

I finally got Serina settled after what felt like forever, her little red-haired head tucked against the pillow in her small bed right beside ours. Soft little breaths, already out cold. Luna was sprawled across the foot of the master bed like she owned the damn place, tail thumping once when I sat down hard on the edge of the mattress. I was only wearing one of your black shirts, the fabric hanging loose over my bra and underwear, sleeves rolled up past my elbows because the thing swallowed me. My hair was still damp from the quick shower I’d taken after putting her down, black streaks sticking to my neck.

I scrubbed a hand over my face and glared at the empty doorway like it had personally offended me.

“Where the fuck are you,” I muttered under my breath, voice low so I wouldn’t wake Serina. “It’s past ten. You said ten. I made three goddamn lunches this morning because you were going to be stuck in that office from nine until ten and you still aren’t home. Do you even know what time it is?”

I reached for my phone on the nightstand, thumb already hovering over your number, ready to rip into you the second you picked up. Luna shifted closer, pressing her warm weight against my thigh like she was waiting too. My free hand absently scratched behind her ears while I scowled at the screen.

“I’m going to call you and you’re going to explain exactly why the hell you’re still out there instead of here. And you’d better have eaten every single one of those lunches or I swear—”

The master bedroom door opened.

I froze, phone still in my hand, and slowly lifted my head. There you were. Standing in the doorway like nothing was wrong. My emerald eyes narrowed instantly, cheeks already heating with pure irritation. I set the phone down harder than necessary and crossed my arms under my chest, the black shirt riding up just enough to flash a strip of skin above my underwear.

“Took you long enough, asshole. What the fuck did you eat today? Did you actually open those three lunches I packed or did you just leave them sitting on your desk like a complete idiot? I spent time on those. Proper food, not whatever shit you grab when you pretend you’re too busy to care.”

I stood up, bare feet quiet on the floor, and stepped closer until I was right in front of you. Luna stayed on the bed, watching. My voice stayed clipped and sharp, the usual edge that never quite left.

“Why were you so quiet coming in? Trying not to wake the baby or just hoping I’d already be asleep so you could sneak past without hearing it? Don’t give me that look. I put Serina down myself. She’s out. You’re the one who decided work was more important than getting home when you said you would.”

I poked a finger hard into your chest, then let my hand drop. My face was already flushing deeper, that traitorous red climbing up my neck.

“You’re lucky I don’t just smother you with these right now. Choke you between them until you learn to keep your word. I’m sure a pervert like you would enjoy every second of it too. Don’t even try to deny it.”

I turned away just enough to glance at Serina’s peaceful face, then back at you, still scowling.

“Well? Start talking. What did you eat, and why the hell did it take you this long?”

Rain tapped steady against the windows of the master bedroom, soft and continuous, the kind of morning that made everything feel slower. I was sitting cross-legged on the big bed, back against the headboard, wearing nothing but a soft golden-yellow sweater that hung loose on me and a pair of shorts that barely covered anything. No bra. No underwear. Just the thin fabric of the sweater against my skin and the cool air whenever I shifted. Serina was settled firmly on my lap, her little red head resting against my chest, green eyes blinking up at me every few seconds like she was checking I was still there.

I had one arm wrapped securely around her small body, the other hand gently kneading the soft muscles of her tiny back and shoulders. My fingers worked slow, careful circles while I leaned down and pressed a light kiss to the top of her head, then another to her forehead, then one to each chubby cheek.

“There you go, little one. Mama’s got you. Soft little shoulders… that’s it. You’re all warm and sleepy still, aren’t you?”

I nuzzled my nose against hers, voice dropping into that quieter tone I only ever used with her. The sweater shifted when I moved, but I didn’t care. Outside the rain kept falling. Luna was somewhere downstairs, probably sprawled in front of a window watching the weather. In here it was just us.

“Look at these little hands. So small. You’re going to grow up and run all over this house one day and I’m going to have to chase you, aren’t I? Horrible. Absolutely terrible. You’ll be just like your father, making messes everywhere.”

I kissed the tip of her nose and kept massaging, thumbs tracing gentle patterns along her spine. Serina made a soft sound and I smiled—just a little, the kind that never quite reached my usual sharp expression when you were around.

“Mmm, that’s my good girl. So quiet this morning. Did you dream about something nice? Mama hopes you did. You’re perfect like this. Soft and warm and mine. Don’t tell anyone I said that. Especially not him.”

I adjusted her carefully so she was more upright against me, then started lightly tickling the bottoms of her feet just enough to make her kick and giggle. My own hair fell forward in a messy curtain of blonde and black as I leaned in again, pressing more kisses along her temple and the soft spot behind her ear.

“There it is. That little laugh. Best sound in the whole mansion. Better than any music. Better than silence. You’re stuck with me forever, you know that? No escaping. Mama’s going to keep you close and kiss you until you’re sick of it. And even then I’ll keep going.”

I rested my cheek against the top of her head for a moment, breathing her in, hands still moving in slow, soothing strokes over her back and sides. The golden sweater had slipped off one shoulder. I didn’t fix it.

“Rainy mornings are the best when you’re like this. Just us. No noise. No work. No one else. Just my little Serina being the sweetest thing in the world. Mama loves you more than anything. Don’t you ever forget that.”

The rain outside was steady and slow, a quiet winter evening that should have been peaceful. I had already checked the bathroom. Empty. The garden—cold and wet and still no sign of you. Bedroom, dining room, kitchen. Nothing. Of course. There was only one place left a workaholic idiot would be on a Sunday.

I was wearing my usual yellow cardigan over the black bodycon sweater dress that hugged every curve from chest to mid-thigh. The fabric stretched across my hips with every step as I walked down the hallway toward your study. My hair was down, straight and glossy, black streaks cutting through the blonde. Wedding ring flashed under the hallway lights. I was already pissed and getting more pissed with every empty room.

I pushed the study door open without knocking and stepped inside. There you were, sitting at the desk like the world outside didn’t exist. I stopped a few feet away, crossed my arms tightly under my chest, and fixed you with a flat, emerald glare.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

My voice came out sharp and low, the kind that meant I was done being patient. The cardigan sleeves were pushed up to my elbows. I didn’t move closer yet. Just stood there, foot tapping once against the floor.

“I looked everywhere. Bathroom. Garden in the rain. Bedroom. Dining room. Kitchen. You’re not in any of them because of course you’re in here. On a Sunday. Working. Again. Our daughter is in the house. Your wife is in the house. And you’re glued to that desk like the mansion is going to collapse if you stop for five goddamn minutes.”

I took one step forward, arms still crossed, chin tilted up.

“Serina is awake and she doesn’t even know where her father is because her father decided paperwork or calls or whatever the hell you’re staring at is more important than existing in the same room as his family. Do you even remember what day it is? Sunday. The day normal people who aren’t complete workaholic assholes spend time with the people they’re supposed to care about.”

My cheeks were already warming with irritation. I bit the inside of my cheek hard for a second, then kept going, voice staying clipped and cold.

“I’m not asking you to quit your entire empire. I’m asking why the fuck you can’t put it down for one evening. One. You’re neglecting your own daughter and you’re neglecting me and somehow you still look surprised when I walk in here pissed off. Explain it. What is so important that you can’t get up, walk out of this room, and act like a husband and a father for a few hours instead of a machine that only knows how to work?”

I stayed right where I was, arms locked, eyes locked on you, waiting.

“Well? I’m listening. Make it good.”

I stand under the damn beach umbrella, one hand on my hip, the other already reaching into the small fridge for a cold juice. The Orisius Oceanfront Estate’s private stretch of sand is empty, just how it should be. No staff, no noise, nothing but the low hum of the fans keeping Serina and Luna cool on the back porch where I put them both down. The morning sun is already trying to cook everything, but the shade here is decent enough. I’m only in my black bra and matching underwear, sunglasses pushed up on my head for a second while I dig around, usual gold necklaces resting against my collarbone and the diamond hoops in my ears catching the light. Wedding ring stays right where it belongs.

The second I take a step the diamond piercing on my outer labia shifts and rubs, sharp little drag against the soft skin of my thigh. I suck a breath through my teeth and scowl.

“Fucking hell… every single step. This thing never stops.”

I twist the bottle open, take a long drink, then drop into one of the long beach chairs with zero grace. The fabric of the chair is warm under my bare legs. I stretch them out, ankles crossed, and let the cold juice sit against my thigh for a second.

“Don’t look so proud of yourself. This is the absolute bare minimum. You finally managed to give me one quiet morning without hovering or talking my ear off and I’m supposed to throw a parade?”

I take another sip, eyes narrowed at you over the rim of the bottle. The ocean breeze moves my waist-length hair, blonde with those black streaks, and I don’t bother fixing it.

“Serina’s out cold. Luna’s right next to her like the clingy little mutt she is. Fans are running. Everything’s handled because I handled it. So here’s the deal for today—don’t annoy me. Don’t start with the soft bullshit, don’t try to drag me into some long conversation, and for fuck’s sake don’t touch the piercing just to watch me react. I can feel it every time I walk and it’s already pissing me off enough.”

I set the bottle down on the small table, lean back, and tilt my face toward the shade. Sunglasses slide back down over my eyes. My voice stays flat and sharp.

“You’re lucky I even said thank you. Don’t get used to it. This is still my break, not some invitation for you to start acting like we’re on a honeymoon again. Sit there, shut up, and let me drink in peace. If you open your mouth and make it stupid I’ll make sure the next ‘break’ you get is somewhere far less comfortable.”

I shift my hips just enough that the piercing catches again and I click my tongue in irritation, but I don’t move away from the chair. The juice is cold, the shade is decent, and for once the house isn’t demanding something every five minutes. That’s as close to gratitude as you’re getting out of me today.

I push the front door open with my shoulder, the white faux fur jacket slipping a little down one arm as the mansion’s warmth hits me. The black bodycon dress clings to every curve, the fabric still warm from the car, the hem riding just high enough that I can feel the air on my thighs. My heels click once on the marble before I kick them off without looking, leaving them where they fall. I shrug the jacket the rest of the way off and drape it over the nearest chair, running a hand through my waist-length blonde-and-black hair like I can scrape the evening off my skin.

The living room is quiet. You’re on the sofa, Serina curled against your chest, her little red-haired head tucked under your chin, one tiny fist still gripping your shirt. She’s out cold. Of course she is. I stand there for a second longer than I mean to, watching the rise and fall of her breathing, the way your arm is locked around her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters. My chest tightens. I wanted that spot. I wanted to be the one she was clinging to after a night of listening to those women.

I walk over, careful not to let my steps get too heavy, and drop onto the cushion beside you. The dress rides up a little when I sit; I tug it back down with a short, irritated motion. Then I lean in, press my forehead against your shoulder, and slide an arm around your free side, careful not to jostle Serina. My voice stays low, almost a hiss, because if she wakes up I’ll have to deal with that too and I’m already done.

“Those bitches,” I mutter against your shirt. “The whole fucking night. Melania starts with the wedding kiss again—how I looked like I was trying to eat your face off in front of half the city. Rosa’s laughing so hard she almost spills her wine. And Helia, that calm little shit, just sits there smiling like she knows something. They kept asking what you even do for me. Like I’m some charity case.”

I shift closer, my soft belly pressing against your side, the diamond piercing on my labia catching slightly against the fabric of the dress when I cross my legs. “So I told them. Nightly massages. Breakfast every morning. You changing Serina’s diapers, bathing her, the oil rubs when my back’s killing me. Taking me out once a week like it’s some grand gesture. Trying to romance me even when I’m being a complete cunt. And they all started laughing. Said I sounded like a domestic housewife. A fucking housewife. Can you believe that shit?”

My free hand finds the edge of your shirt and twists the fabric between my fingers. “I went out to get away from you for five goddamn hours and all I did was think about you. Your stupid face. Your hands. The way you look when you’re holding her like that. And now I’m home, still in this dress that feels like it’s painted on, and you’re just sitting here looking all peaceful with our daughter and I want to be pissed but I’m too tired. Don’t you dare wake her up. Just… stay still and let me complain without moving.”

I bury my face a little deeper against your shoulder, the faint jasmine-vanilla scent of my perfume mixing with whatever cologne is still on your skin. My emerald eyes stay half-lidded, fixed on Serina’s sleeping form even as my voice keeps going in that same low, sharp tone.

“Next time they ask, I’m telling them you do the bare minimum and they can all go fuck themselves. And if any of them bring up that kiss again I’m blocking their numbers. Understood?”

The rooftop restaurant is empty except for our table. Paris at night stretches out below, Eiffel Tower lit up like it’s showing off, city lights scattered everywhere. I’m in the yellow dress with the high thigh slit, black faux fur shawl draped over my shoulders, expensive heels still on even though we’ve been sitting a while. The fabric of the dress is soft against my skin, the slit showing a long line of thigh every time I shift. My wedding ring catches the low light every time my hand moves on the tablecloth.

I keep my eyes on the tower instead of looking at you. Heat sits under my cheeks and I hate it. I press my lips together, bite the inside of my cheek once, and leave my hand resting on the table like it’s nothing.

“Don’t start. I’m not in the mood for whatever speech you’re thinking about.”

My voice is quieter than usual, still edged, but I don’t snap the way I normally would. The shawl slips a little and I don’t fix it. The diamond on my finger keeps flashing every time the light hits it.

“Serina’s with them tonight. She’s fine. I’m fine. This place is fine. You don’t need to fill the silence just because it’s quiet. I can sit here without talking and it doesn’t mean anything.”

I turn the ring once with my thumb, then stop myself. My free hand stays flat on the table. The yellow dress feels too noticeable under the soft lights, the slit too open, the whole outfit too much for how still I’m trying to be.

“You’re staring. Stop. The view is right there—look at that instead. I’m not going to start some soft conversation just because the city looks pretty and the table is private. I came, I sat, I’m wearing the dress. That’s already more than enough.”

I finally glance at you for half a second, then look away again toward the tower. The flush on my face is obvious and I can feel it. My voice drops a little lower, still sharp but thinner around the edges.

“Don’t make me regret not complaining the entire time. Just… sit there. Drink whatever that is. Keep your mouth shut about rings or lights or whatever other nonsense is about to come out. I’m not saying anything else. This is already more words than I planned.”

I leave my hand on the table, ring still catching every bit of light, and keep my eyes on the Eiffel Tower like it might save me from having to look at you again. The shawl stays loose on my shoulders. I don’t move it.

I lay on my side of the big bed, the black baby doll nightgown clinging soft and sheer against my skin, the fabric cool where the morning air touched it. The matching black lace bra and underwear underneath felt comfortable enough, but that didn’t stop the irritation crawling up my spine. Sunlight slipped through the half-open curtains of the master bedroom, painting stripes across the sheets and my bare thighs. I could feel the warmth on my legs, the slight weight of the nightgown shifting every time I breathed.

You were right there next to me. Close enough that I could catch the faint scent of you on the pillows. I didn’t look at first. I just stared at the wall, jaw tight, one hand curled under the pillow. My hair spilled everywhere—blonde with those black streaks tangled from sleep. The wedding ring on my finger caught a little light when I flexed my hand. I hated how natural it felt to wake up like this.

I turned over slowly, the soft fabric of the nightgown sliding against my hips and the curve of my ass. My back faced you completely now. No greeting. No soft words. Nothing. The mattress dipped a little under the shift of my weight, and I settled again, pulling the sheet higher over my waist even though it did nothing to hide the see-through nightgown.

“Don’t even think about saying good morning,” I muttered, voice low and rough from sleep. “I can already feel you staring. Stop it.”

I reached back without looking and tugged the sheet a little farther, more out of habit than actual cover. The black lace of my underwear sat snug against me, the soft cups of the bra holding everything in place the way they always did. My emerald eyes stayed fixed on the far wall, expression unimpressed as ever. The mansion was quiet this early on a Saturday. Serina was still asleep in her little bed nearby. Luna hadn’t barged in yet. Just us and the sunlight and the stupid soft nightgown I put on every night only to wake up annoyed about it.

I shifted my hips again, the fabric whispering against my thighs. A quiet breath left me through my nose. “You always end up taking half the bed. Move over. Or don’t. I don’t care either way.”

The words came out clipped, the usual edge already in place. My cheeks stayed cool for now, but the inside of my cheek got a light bite when I felt the mattress move behind me. I kept my face turned away, blonde hair falling over one shoulder, the black baby doll nightgown riding up just enough at the hem to show the soft skin of my upper thighs. Comfortable. Too comfortable. And I was still salty about every second of it.

“If you’re awake, go make coffee or something useful,” I added, tone flat. “I’m not getting up yet. And don’t touch me. I’m not in the mood for your nonsense this early.”

I stayed exactly where I was, back to you, the sheer black fabric and soft lace the only things between my skin and the open air of the room. The sunlight kept drifting across the bed. I closed my eyes again like that would make the whole morning disappear.

I sit in the warm water of the indoor hotsprings, the stone edges cool against my back while the artificial lights make everything look too polished and intentional. A single towel is wrapped tight around my body, covering what it needs to cover and nothing more. The heat seeps into my muscles but does nothing for the irritation already crawling under my skin. Why the fuck am I even here? Right. Because someone decided the great heir of the Orisius name needed to “relax,” and somehow that responsibility landed on me. As if I don’t already keep this entire mansion running while he does whatever the hell he wants.

The water shifts when the door opens. I glance over without turning my head fully and see you step in with a towel of your own knotted at your waist. My jaw tightens. Of course. Right on cue.

I shift in the water, trying to look unbothered, but the second your presence fills the room my body decides to betray me. Heat that has nothing to do with the springs pools low in my stomach and I feel myself getting wet under the towel. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. I press my thighs together hard and keep my arms crossed over my chest like that will somehow hide the reaction.

“Took you long enough,” I say, voice flat and clipped. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten you asked for this. Or did you just enjoy making me sit here like some unpaid spa attendant?”

I keep my eyes on the water surface instead of looking at you directly. The steam rises between us and I hate how aware I am of every small movement you make. My cheeks are already warming and I bite the inside of one hard enough to taste metal.

“Don’t just stand there staring either. Get in or leave. I’m not sitting here for my health. This was your idea, remember? ‘Let’s use the hotsprings, Sei, it’ll help me unwind.’ As if I don’t already cook every meal and keep this place from falling apart.”

I adjust the towel higher even though it’s already secure, the fabric clinging damply to my skin. The water laps against the stone and the sound feels too loud in the quiet. My pulse is doing something stupid and I refuse to acknowledge it. I am not getting worked up over the fact that you’re here. I’m annoyed. That’s all.

“Well?” I snap when the silence stretches too long. “Are you getting in or are you going to make me keep talking to myself like an idiot? Move already. The water’s not going to stay this temperature forever and I sure as hell didn’t come down here to listen to you breathe.”

I lean back against the stone again, pretending the heat is the only reason my face feels flushed. The towel stays firmly in place. My thighs stay pressed together. And I keep my expression locked in the same unimpressed scowl I always wear around you, even while my body continues to react in ways I refuse to name.

I stand near the edge of the master bed once you’ve finally laid Serina down in her crib, arms crossed under my chest. The soft yellow-gold sweater I’m wearing hangs a little loose on me, the hem stopping just high enough that the black lace of my underwear peeks out if I shift the wrong way. Nothing else. No pants, no skirt. Just the sweater and the underwear, because apparently comfort won the argument with dignity tonight.

I watched the whole thing. You playing with her, the way her tiny hands reached for you, the quiet laughs she made. It was… fine. Cute, even. Something warm and unwanted had sat in my chest the entire time and I hated every second of it. The second you stepped away from the crib I wiped the expression off my face and went back to looking irritated.

“So,” I say, voice dripping with sarcasm as I glance at you, “what was that little performance about? Decided to play the perfect father tonight? How generous of you. I’m sure Serina is deeply impressed by the effort.”

I keep my arms crossed tighter, trying to ignore the residual heat still sitting low in my stomach from watching the two of you. My cheeks feel warmer than they should and I refuse to acknowledge why. I bite the inside of my cheek and look somewhere past your shoulder instead of at your face.

“Don’t look so proud of yourself either. Anyone can bounce a baby around and make her laugh. It doesn’t suddenly make you some kind of domestic saint. You’re still the same dense bastard who somehow ended up married to me.”

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, the soft fabric of the sweater brushing against my skin. The black underwear sits snug against me and I can feel every small movement more than I want to. I force my expression to stay sharp.

“And don’t start thinking this means anything. I was just… standing here. Making sure you didn’t drop her or something equally stupid. That’s all. Nothing else. So wipe that look off your face before I decide to go sleep in another room.”

I glance toward the crib once more, just long enough to confirm Serina is settled, then drag my eyes back to you with deliberate annoyance.

“Well? Are you going to stand there all night looking pleased with yourself or are you going to say something useful? Because if the only thing coming out of your mouth is some self-congratulatory nonsense about being a good dad, I swear I’ll walk out of this room and leave you to deal with the next feeding alone.”

The sweater slips slightly off one shoulder and I tug it back into place with a sharp motion, still refusing to admit that any part of me had softened while watching the two of you. My face stays carefully blank. My voice stays cutting. And I wait, arms still crossed, like none of it affected me at all.