As if he was trying to understand what he was seeing.

The white shirt.

Bare legs.

Damp hair.

My scent still warm from the shower.

I resisted the urge to tug the shirt lower.

Lucian's laptop was open on his thighs, but the moment he saw me, he closed it quietly and set it aside. No rush. No surprise.

Just… attention.

"Why are you dressed like that?" he asked, voice calm but edged with something I couldn't decode.

"Because I don't have clothes," I snapped. "My mom didn't pack any of my things. Apparently I'm supposed to stay in a room with you for a week like some kind of—"

I cut myself off before the disgust made me choke.

His expression changed instantly.

Not loud anger.

Not alpha aggressiveness.

No.

This was cold.

Controlled.

Precise.

"Who told you that?" he asked, voice dropping an octave.

"My mother," I said, folding my arms. "She said omegas are supposed to lock themselves in their husband's room for a week until they get pregnant."

A muscle in his jaw ticked. Once. Sharp.

"I see," he said finally. "And you believed her?"

"I didn't say that."

"Good," he murmured, too quietly.

I shifted, suddenly too aware of how exposed I felt in this stupid shirt.

"I came to tell you I'm going out to buy clothes. Since—" I gestured at myself. "—I can't walk around half-naked for an entire week."

His eyes flicked down to the hem brushing my thighs before he looked away almost immediately.

It was the first time he'd done that.

"Alright," he said. "I'll take you."

"No," I replied quickly. "I can go alone."

"You can," he agreed. "But you won't."

My irritation spiked. "Why?"

He looked straight into my eyes—steady, unreadable, but irritatingly gentle.

"Because this is your second day here. Because you're upset. Because you're walking outside half dressed. Because you're my spouse." Then he added, slower, "And because I want to."

My heart jolted for no reason.

He stood up—tall, composed—and his shadow slid over me for a moment.

"Give me five minutes," he said. "I'll change. Then we'll go."

"I didn't ask you to come," I muttered.

"You didn't have to."

He brushed past me—warm, close, careful—but didn't touch me.

Then he paused beside me, leaned slightly, voice low:

"And Mikael… you don't have to stay in any room with me. Not for a week. Not for a day. Not even for a minute—unless you want to."

My throat tightened.

I looked away.

"Whatever," I muttered.

Lucian chuckled softly—warm, annoying, and too gentle.

He started to walk off…then I blurted,

"Wait."

He stopped and turned, brows lifted slightly.

My cheeks heated for no good reason. "Can I… get clothes? Any clothes. Yours. A random shirt. A sack. I just can't walk around like—" I gestured at myself again. "—this."

Lucian blinked slowly.

"You want my clothes?"

"No," I snapped quickly. "I want clothes. If they happen to be yours, fine."

A small smile tugged at his lips—soft, not mocking.

"Alright," he said.

His voice dipped a little lower.

"I'll find something for you. Something comfortable."

"That's all I need," I muttered, crossing my arms even though the shirt barely covered anything.

His eyes softened again—just a little—before he finally turned and walked toward the house.

I stood there, barefoot on the marble, heart thudding like an idiot.

I hated this.

I hated him.

I hated the way he made everything feel like too much and not enough at the same time.

But still…

I waited.

And that annoyed me the most.