Jace had left for work, his goodbye kiss still lingering on her forehead. The apartment felt too quiet in his absence, like the silence was waiting to speak.
Anna, not one to sit idle, decided to clean — a small way to thank the man who gave her peace in a storm.
She moved through the kitchen and the living room, wiping down counters, folding throw blankets, dusting forgotten corners.
Then she stepped into his bedroom.
The air smelled faintly of cedar and him.
As she wiped the bedside table, her hand brushed against something cold and oddly shaped. Curious, she picked it up.
An old key.
Iron-wrought, with elegant carvings that looked too purposeful to be decoration. It looked ancient — like it belonged in a forgotten castle or the pages of a fairytale.
Her fingers curled around it.
"Jace must like old things," she whispered to herself with a faint smile, though something deeper stirred in her chest — a strange familiarity.
She searched the room for a box, a drawer, anything that might belong to the key… but found nothing.
Still, the key felt important. Like it had been waiting for her.
She waited for him, curled on the couch and sleep pulled her gently under.
When Jace returned with evening's hush, he found her lost in dreams.
A soft smile played on her lips, but the key clutched in her hand, stole the calm from his face.
How did she find that?
With a quiet breath, he slipped it away, hid the truth once more.
Then turned to the kitchen to cook something warm— something that might keep questions at bay.
She woke, sleepy-eyed, wrapped her arms around him from behind.
He turned, kissed her lightly.
"You're home," she whispered. "Why didn't you wake me?"
"I couldn't disturb a dream that sweet," he said with a smile too practiced, "Food's ready. Wash up, baby girl."
They sat together, forks clinking gently. But between each bite, a secret pressed against the silence.
"Jacy…" she began, "You like antique things, don't you?"
He nodded, slowly.
"I found a key. In your drawer. What's it for?"
The air stilled. His throat held the truth, but his lips said nothing.
And the silence grew louder than the question.
With a calm smile and steady voice, Jace answered, "It's the key to my grandma's old box."
A lie, delicate as glass, spoken to protect, or perhaps to bury.
And Anna—soft-hearted and trusting— believed him.
Because in her eyes, Jace was a man carved from loyalty, not shadows.
She turned away, washing dishes, her hands lost in warm water and simple silence.
But he— he watched her with storm in his chest, a truth burning beneath his skin.
In a heartbeat, he was behind her. His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her with gentle strength.
Not a word was spoken as he carried her to the bed, as if silence could rewrite the moment.
And then— his lips found hers, with a desperation that tasted like regret.
He kissed her deeply, hungrily, as though he could erase questions with the curve of her mouth.
Time stilled. The world faded. There was only the weight of his longing, the press of his lips on hers, on her cheek, on her neck.
His kisses— they were not just touches, but spells, pulling her into that place where reality unraveled and only feeling remained. And Anna—
she let herself be taken. Because in his arms, even lies felt like love.
Maybe, his kisses were spell.
(To Be Continued...)