It was just two days until Nora's birthday, and Zayan had already started surprising her. He gifted her a stunning white coat and a sleek, black-slit dress that hugged every curve of her body like it was made just for her. But the magic of the gift was quickly shadowed by a storm neither of them saw coming.
That night, Nora returned home at 3 a.m., her phone dead and her mood far worse than the silence in the air. Zayan had stayed up, waiting, worrying.
"Nora… where have you been?" he asked, voice low but full of concern.
She was already on edge.
"I had a horrible day, Zayan," she snapped.
"I was worried sick—your phone was off. I—"
She cut him off, her voice breaking as anger and exhaustion collided.
"It's because of you I had that accident!"
The words hit Zayan like a bullet. He stood still, stunned, pain blooming in his chest.
After a long silence, he said softly, "I know… I'm sorry."
He didn't fight. He just picked up the pillows from the bed.
"Good night, love," he whispered and walked out, the pain clear in his tone.
The kids had heard the fight. Lysander began to cry in the twins' room. Seraphina patted his head, trying to soothe him. Even baby Liam stirred in his crib, sensing the tension in the air.
Nora changed silently and sat on the bed—it was cold. Her eyes welled up.
"Z…," she whispered, guilt cracking through her like glass.
She quietly walked downstairs and found Zayan lying on the hammock, eyes closed. But he wasn't asleep—just pretending.
She knelt beside him, brushing his face gently.
"The bed is cold without you… baby," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm so, so sorry. It's not your fault… I'm such a foolish woman. Now you're hurt… and I don't know what to do."
Zayan heard every word, but he didn't move. She kissed his lips softly, draped a blanket over him, and walked away—tears falling silently from her eyes.
As she disappeared into the house, Zayan slowly opened his eyes.
"I know you didn't mean it," he whispered. "You've just been having hard days. But you love me… very, very much. And I love you, now and forever."
The next morning, Nora got ready for work in a crisp white collared blouse, a sleek black pencil skirt, and a white scarf elegantly wrapped around her head, covering her hair.
She walked quietly to the bed, leaned down, and kissed Zayan's cheek.
"Bye, love… I promise to fix this. I swear to you," she whispered.
Zayan opened one eye just as she walked away. He watched her go, completely captivated. Her curves, her poise, her strength—she was drop-dead gorgeous, even more so with the grace of motherhood. His heart ached with love.
Nora's day began at the university. Her teachings had expanded globally, and her influence had grown. The government had increased everyone's paycheck to £2 million, but Nora's stood at a whopping £11 million after she solved the international war dispute between Iran and Ukraine, also coordinating humanitarian aid that saved thousands.
After work, she stopped by the mall, picking up new art supplies—she missed painting. But she was also preparing something personal for Zayan… a heartfelt apology. She even treated herself to some expensive new clothes and four sensual lingerie sets for her husband.
While shopping, a man with a Russian accent approached her.
"Hello, pretty lady. I couldn't stop looking at you," he said with a sly smirk. "My friends and I agree—you're incredibly beautiful."
Nora didn't even look up. "I'm a married woman. So beat it," she said while texting Melanie.
"Come on… I'm sure your husband won't mind a second-timer," he added, eyes glinting.
Just then, Meira and Desmon were shopping nearby.
"Hey! It's Nora!" Meira said, holding her son.
The man reached out, his hand grazing Nora's waist—and that was it.
Nora's face changed. Her calm shattered.
She slipped on her brass knuckles—hidden in her purse—and in heels, she landed a brutal punch to the man's jaw, breaking his nose. Another man stepped up—she kicked him hard in the gut. The Russian, shocked, tried to block—but Nora spun and knocked his arm out of place.
Desmon, of course, filmed the whole thing.
"Next time, don't ever harass a married woman, you bastardly fool!" she snapped, standing tall.
"WOOOOO! NORA!!!" Meira screamed in support as the crowd clapped.
Desmon sent the video to Zayan, who was at the office. He laughed watching it, pride gleaming in his eyes.
"That's my wife," he said with a grin.
Nora got home early that evening and took a shower. The twins ran into her arms.
"Hi, Mama!"
"I'm so sorry, my loves. I promise to make it up to you, okay?"
Just then, Max—the husky who had grown into a large, beautiful protector—came bounding in. He barked and wagged his tail excitedly.
"Maxieeeee!" Nora laughed, kneeling and hugging him tightly. "How are you, boy? I missed you too."
She rubbed his soft fur, and he barked again, nuzzling her.
Nora changed into a braless top and booty shorts, heading into her art room. She was setting up for body painting, her mind calm and focused. She mixed the paints, dipped her arms and body, and began pressing her form onto a canvas.
Zayan came home a few minutes later.
"Hey Max, it's been a while," he said, scratching the husky's head. Max barked happily.
Inside, Zayan found a massive bouquet of his favorite—black jasmine mixed with deep red roses. A note was attached:
Hey my baby,
I'm so sorry. Very, very sorry for what I said. I've been having bad days, and none of that was your fault.
You are a good man. A great man. The best, most loving husband anyone could ask for.
I hope you forgive me.
Love always,
Nora.
Zayan smiled—his cheeks even blushed a little.
He quickly fed Liam and the twins, tucked them into bed, and headed to Nora's art room.
There she was—her skin painted in soft pastels, her curves glowing, her top loose and her shorts barely covering anything. She was the picture of seduction and art combined.
"Hey…" he said, unable to stop staring.
Nora turned to him. "Hi, love," she said, seated on the board she'd painted with her body.
"Body art?" he asked, approaching.
She nodded. "I'm so sorry, darling…"
Zayan didn't wait. He moved in, took her face in his hands, and kissed her—deep and full of fire. His tongue met hers with hunger, and his hands ran down her painted skin, gripping her breasts tightly.
"I love you," he whispered, breathless.
"I love you too, forever… my darling baby boy," she said, pulling him closer.
Their bodies spoke the apology words couldn't, the room full of heat, color, and a love neither storms nor fights could destroy.