24. Youve already conquered my heart.
The morning light poured through the glass windows, waking me up before my alarm could. I sat up, feeling well-rested. The scent of Daxton's familiar perfume lingered in my nostrils, and I glanced down, realising I was in his shirt.
I stretched, before burying my face into the shirt and breathing in the delicious scent, unable to keep myself from doing so.
After using the bathroom, I stepped out of the room. The mansion was quiet, with the only sound being my bare feet padding across the opulent marble.
I followed the smell of freshly ground beans and toasted sourdough. My feet seemed to know the way again, navigating the labyrinthine corridors until I reached the kitchen.
Daxton was already there, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee.
He had already showered; his hair was slightly damp, swept back but with one stubborn lock falling over his forehead. He was wearing a pair of dark trousers and a simple black t-shirt that hugged his chest in a way that sent pulsing heat down to my core.
His eyes found mine the moment he realised my presence, lips curling up into a beautiful smile. "Good morning, Ayra."
I smiled back. "Good morning, Daxton."
His gaze started at my messy, sleep-tousled hair, traveled slowly down to the open collar of the shirt, and lingered on the hem that hit me at mid-thigh. The intensity in his eyes was enough to set the kitchen on fire.
I felt shy under the heat of his gaze. Definitely a stark contrast to the boldness I had exhibited last night. Kissing him relentlessly.
"I see the shirt fits." He rasped.
I snorted, glancing down at the way it went past my thighs and hung loosely over my frame. "You sure about that? I look like a toddler playing dress up."
He chuckled. "I could honestly get used to the sight of this every single day."
I arched a brow, smirking. "Me raiding your closet?"
He smiled, stepping closer. "You've already stolen and conquered my heart. You might as well steal my clothes too."
My heart flipped in my chest, blood rushing to my cheeks.
"Did you sleep okay?" He inquired.
I nodded happily. "I slept like a baby, honestly."
He smiled. "Perfect... have a seat. Breakfast is almost ready."
"I'm starving." I admitted, taking a seat opposite to him.
As if on cue, a tall man in a white coat emerged from the pantry, carrying two plates that smelled heavenly. He gave me a polite, knowing nod before placing the spread on the marble island: eggs with sourdough, smoked salmon, and a stack of blueberry pancakes that looked like art.
"Thank you." Daxton said, though his eyes never left mine.
He gestured to my plate. "Eat. I don't want you fainting on your shift because I kept you up too late with my drama."
"I think the drama was mutual." I countered, wasting no time in digging into my food.
It was simply amazing.
"Try this." He said, cutting a small piece of his pancake. He didn't hand me the fork; he held it up to my lips, his eyes searching mine.
My heart did a backflip. I leaned in, taking the bite. The syrup was warm, the blueberries bursting with flavor. "Oh my god," I mumbled around the food. "That's incredible."
"Right?" He grinned, a lock of hair falling into his eyes. "I usually just have black coffee and a protein shake, but since you're here, I figured we should celebrate."
"Celebrate what?" I inquired curiously.
"The fact that you're in my kitchen." He whispered. I forgot to breathe for a second.
He picked up a piece of smoked salmon with his fingers and offered it to me, his touch lingering against my bottom lip after I ate it.
I felt a surge of affection so strong it almost hurt.
I reached over, snagging a strawberry from the fruit bowl, my lips tugging upwards as I held it up for him. He caught my wrist, his eyes darkening as he took a bite, his lips grazing my fingertips.
"You're a messy eater." I whispered, my heart racing as I used my thumb to wipe a drop of juice from the corner of his mouth.
He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned into my touch, kissing the pad of my thumb. The contact felt so electric, my knees felt weak.
"It's your fault. I'm distracted."
"By what?" I arched a brow.
"By the way you're wearing my shirt," he murmured, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, pulling me just an inch closer. "By the way you look in this light. By the fact that I have to let you go to the hospital soon and I already want to call your senior and tell them you're retiring."
I snickered, even though my heartbeat had sped up at the sound of his voice. "Retiring already? Impossible. I worked hard for those 'Dr.' initials. You're stuck with a working woman."
"I suppose I can live with that," he sighed dramatically, leaning in to press a soft, slow kiss to my forehead. "But I'm picking you up the second your shift ends. No walking to the parking lot alone. No exceptions."
"Deal." I agreed with a grin.
We sat there for a long time, sharing food and quiet conversation, the massive house feeling smaller and warmer with every minute.
For the first time, the shadows of the past didn't feel like they were chasing me—they felt like they were finally being outrun by the man sitting in front of me, feeding me strawberries and looking at me like I was his entire world.
After we were done eating, I stood almost still in my seat, breath caught in my lungs as Daxton leaned in to wipe my mouth with a napkin.
It felt... oddly nice. Heartwarming. Charming.
For once, being the one who was being taken care of, and not the other way around.
Before Daxton, I couldn't remember the last time someone had done anything that had made me feel taken care of.
"You still have time to stop by at your apartment, right?" He asked, standing up from his seat.
I glanced down at the oversized shirt on my body. "Yes, I really should. Can't go to work like this."
His lips tilted up into a smirk as his eyes raked me once again. "I agree. That look is not so safe for work."
I laughed, blood rushing to my cheeks. "Let me just fix my hair first."
"I also need to get dressed. I'll meet you at the foyer."
I returned to the guest suite and attempted to fix my appearance. When I made my way to the foyer, Daxton was already there dressed handsomely in a crisp white shirt and black slacks, blazer folded over his muscled forearm.
His eyes held familiar warmth as I approached him.
"Ready?"
I nodded.
My breath hitched as he put his blazer around my shoulders.
"Let's go."
My cheeks were red, chest was warm as I followed him out to his car.
The drive to my apartment was quiet and smooth. Daxton's strong, grounding presence right next to me as he drove was a major source of serenity.
A short while later, Daxton parked right outside my apartment. And for a moment, it felt entirely surreal. The fact that I was going to pack up all my stuff and move in with Daxton Anderson. The decision was shockingly sudden, maybe too fast-paced, but it felt right. Natural.
"I'm going to come with you." Daxton asserted.
I nodded with a small smile.
As I unlocked the front door, I couldn't help but ask. "Be honest. You're coming with me because you're afraid that there might be danger inside, right?"
"Exactly. I'm not letting you walk into a potential crime scene alone." He replied.
I couldn't help but snicker, even though his words provided relief and assurance.
I pushed the door open, surrounded by the familiarity of the home I had lived in for the past few years. But now, it felt cold and lonely.
Everything was exactly like I had left it.
"No trace of danger." I uttered with a shaky breath.
He hummed, scanning the living room.
"Just pack your most essential items, we can always get you new things." He said, following me upstairs.
"Oh I have a lot of essentials." I apprised.
"I'm certain more than half of those essentials are medical journals." He said with a smirk.
I grinned. "Spot on."
Once we reached my bedroom, I threw my suitcase on the bed and got straight to work.
"I hope you don't mind me taking a good deal of time." I said.
He settled comfortably at the edge of my bed. "Take all the time you need, Ayra."
As I shoved my clothes and books into my bag, I noticed Daxton looking around my room. A minute later, he stood and walked to my desk. Something had caught his attention.
When I looked up, I found him staring at a small, framed canvas tucked between my medical journals.
It was a simple, slightly messy painting of a ginger cat with mismatched eyes, sitting in a field of oddly blue grass.
It was clearly the work of a child—uncertain brushstrokes and thick, amateurish layers of acrylic—but the expression on the cat's face was oddly soulful.
Daxton's hand hovered over the frame, his fingers trembling just a fraction. He looked like he was trying to solve a complex equation in his head, his brow furrowed in deep, concentrated silence.
"That's such a cute cat, isn't it?" I grinned. I had an attachment to that small piece of canvas I couldn't explain.
His eyes didn't leave the painting for a second. "Very... did you make this?"
I laughed awkwardly. "I could never... I believe someone painted it for me."
"You believe?" His head turned to me, brows furrowing slightly.
I bit my lip. "I don't remember much. But it was given to me by a boy."
"A boy?" He repeated, something flashing in his eyes.
I nodded, a bittersweet warmth blooming in my chest. "Yes... when I was a kid. I think I told him I was afraid of the dark and he painted this for me. He said the cat would keep watch, so I didn't have to be scared."
He didn't respond, just stood pensively, and I realised how idiotic I must be sounding to him.
"It's silly, I know. Honestly, sometimes it feels like I made this memory up in my head." I spoke, tossing my makeup into the suitcase.
For a couple of minutes, he didn't move.
Then he picked up the painting with a reverence that surprised me and tucked it carefully into the top of my open suitcase. "We should take it along then... so the cat can keep watch over you when I can't."
I couldn't help but utter a soft laugh. "I wasn't going to leave without it anyway."
A few minutes later, I had packed up all of my essential items.
"I'm done. We can leave now." I announced.
"Great." Daxton whispered, zipping up my bag before carrying it single-handedly.
"I can carry it." I said as he stepped out of the room.
"Not while I'm around." He asserted, descending the stairs.
My heart fluttered as I followed his lead back to his car.
But just as Daxton unlocked the doors, he noticed something before I did. His jaw tightened immediately.
Tucked under the wiper blade was a single, wilting white lily. Attached to it was a small, typed note: