Katherine's POV

It's been a week since Ashton indirectly confessed that he's still in love with me—of course, he said it while I was pretending to sleep. Because that's the kind of man he is: vulnerable only when he thinks no one is watching.

The week passed quietly after that, with no fights, no icy remarks, and no accidental explosions of emotion. Just...peace. Well, our version of peace.

I stayed silent for most of the time, I kept all of my guilt and anger to myself. He did the same.

He's been almost nice. Almost. Coming home early from work, silently eating meals with me, ones I didn't prepare, of course. Never doing that again. Still, he doesn't exchange full sentences with me. He still doesn't smile much—or laugh, for that matter—but there's something softer in his gaze now. Something I hadn't seen in so long.

And here I was, like every night, lying in bed thinking about him. Thinking about how just a few doors down, Ashton Ryder—the same man who could rip me apart with a single sentence—was somehow trying. He wasn't perfect, but he was trying.

He said that he was sorry.

He said that he loved me...I didn't know what to think of that anymore.

Or maybe I was just overthinking it. Overthinking him. Again.

But tonight, I wasn't just overthinking. I was craving. And not just anything—I wanted Ben & Jerry's chocolate fudge brownie ice cream. Desperately.

I even dreamt of it when I took a nap earlier today.

I padded down to the kitchen, clinging to the hope that some of that sweet, creamy goodness might still be hiding in the freezer. The light flickered on as I opened the door, cold air washing over me.

It was empty. No ice cream or whatsoever...

"No," I muttered under my breath in defeat, shutting the door with a dramatic sigh. How can there be no ice cream in this house? Did I finish it all?

I dropped onto a stool, pulling out my phone as a last resort. Desperate times, right? I quickly searched for late-night delivery options in our area. Unsurprisingly, the results were grim—no one was willing to rescue a pregnant woman from her ice cream cravings at this ungodly hour.

With a groan of frustration, I dragged myself back upstairs, each step heavier than the last, a frown glued to my face, grumbling about the injustice of it all.

When I reached the top of the stairs, my eyes wandered to his door and I paused. A spark of hope flickered in my chest.

Should I?

No, no. He's probably asleep.

But what if he isn't?

I hovered outside his door, biting my lip, mentally wrestling with myself for what felt like an eternity. Finally, I caved and with a deep breath, I turned the knob and eased the door open.

The room was dark, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. Ashton was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily.

I walked into the room, pausing when I was close to him. Damn it, he looked so cute. Peaceful, even. Too peaceful for someone who made it his life's mission to annoy me. His hair was tousled in a way that made him seem softer, and his sharp features relaxed in sleep.

For a moment, I just stood there, watching him, my heart doing that annoying twisty thing it always does when I least want it to.

Screw my ice cream, I decided. I can't wake him up.

But as I turned to leave, my foot caught the edge of the bedside table. Pain shot up my leg.

"Shit, shit, shit!" I hissed, clutching my throbbing toes.

"Katherine?" His gruff, sleepy voice startled me, and I froze, my eyes widening.

Oh no.

The bedside lamp clicked on, and Ashton sat up, rubbing his eyes. A few strands of his soft hair fell over his forehead. His half-closed eyes blinked at me in confusion.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice still rough with sleep. But his expression shifted quickly, concern flickering to life as he straightened up, "Are you hurt?"

Oh, you silly man...

"No, no, I'm fine," I squeaked, trying to calm the whirlwind of panic in my chest.

He frowned, "Then what are you doing here?"

"Well, I..." I stammered, wringing my hands. "I was, uh...I thought...I mean...if you would..."

He arched a brow, waiting. Impatient as ever.

"I'm craving ice cream," I blurted out finally, heat rushing to my cheeks.

For a moment, he just stared, clearly waiting for more. When no additional explanation came, his head tilted slightly.

"That's it?"

Heat crept up my neck, "It's not for me."

"Then, for who?"

"It's your baby who wants ice cream," I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest defensively.

His eyebrow raised, "At two in the morning?"

I shrugged, fighting the urge to shrink under his gaze. "Apparently," I said, "And it's three in the morning, not two, by the way," I corrected him, nervously licking my dry lips.

For a second, I thought he might laugh or kick me out. Instead, he leaned back against the headboard, his eyes narrowing in thought.

"Well," he said slowly, his voice holding a teasing edge that made my stomach flip, "I'd suggest you wait until a reasonable hour...but something tells me you won't."

I arched a brow, trying to appear unaffected by his teasing, "Well, yeah...you know, this is your fault for not stocking the freezer. And for dragging me to a foreign country I know nothing about," I was rambling on incoherently, "Also, you know that I am pregnant. You know I like ice cream, but yeah when have you ever done anything that caters to my—ugh, forget it!" I threw up my hands dramatically.

My lips curled in annoyance and I grumbled under my breath, "And who...who doesn't have ice cream on hand, seriously?"

Lines etched between his brows, trying to piece my broken sentences and failing at this late hour, "Okay, wait...how did this become my fault again?"

I shrugged, ever so nonchalantly, "I mean, you knocked me up after all," It is all his fault.

He nodded his head, "I seem to recall you being very present for that."

So, we are just gonna talk about that like it's so casual.

I felt hot all of a sudden, like I am burning. Isn't London supposed to be cold at this time of the year?

I crossed my arms, my cheeks heating furiously. "I was drunk," I blurted.

He nodded, and his lips twitched, ever so faintly, "So was I."

Why, oh why, do I even talk to him?

My jaw tightened, "Yay us," I mumbled lowly, my voice held zero enthusiasm.

He shook his head with a low sigh as he glanced toward the clock. "Katherine, I'm not going to run around a city we don't know that well, looking for ice cream in the middle of the night."

My lips pursed. I knew nothing good would come out of him. "Fine. Forget it. I'll just suffer in silence. But don't blame me when your child ends up with an ice-cream-shaped birthmark on his face."

I turned around, ready to leave, I'd barely made it two steps before I heard him groan. There it is.

"Okay, wait," he said, his voice annoyed but laced with surrender.

He stood up, rubbing a hand over his face as if this entire situation was somehow my fault. His eyes flicked over my pajama-clad form, "Go put on something warm," he said, "Then let's go."

Oh wow, the birthmark comment worked like a charm!

"Really?" My eyes lit up, and before he could change his mind, I bolted back to my room.

I threw on a sweater over my pajamas, tugged on a baby-blue puffy jacket, and haphazardly pulled my hair into a messy bun. Did I look like a wreck? Yes. Did I care? Absolutely not.

When I came downstairs, Ashton was already by the door, his black jacket on, his hair a beautiful mess and his eyes as annoyed as ever. Even half-asleep, he looked...ugh.

"Let's go," he said, holding the door open.

I walked past him, trying not to smile too widely. If this wasn't a victory, I didn't know what was.

We drove to three different stores. Two were closed, and one didn't have Ben & Jerry's; I mean they had it, but they didn't have the flavor I wanted. I asked if we could keep looking, earning an exasperated sigh from Ashton, though he didn't argue.

He is being weirdly accepting of my unreasonable suggestions, although his huffs and puffs are still a pain in my ass.

He parked at the side and searched his phone for other nearby stores.

And as he scrolled through the screen, I couldn't help but stare. Not in a creepy way—okay, maybe a little creepy. His jawline was sharper than usual, thanks to the stubble that had grown in over the week. His hair was a touch longer, messy soft waves that looked like they were styled that way on purpose. And then there was the casual attire: a plain white shirt and gray sweatpants. Simple. Effortless. Perfect.

Don't get me wrong—he's a walking magazine cover in his tailored suits and crisp shirts. But this? Him sitting in the driver's seat, his fingers swiping across his phone, his brow furrowed in focus while searching for a way to satisfy my absurd 3 a.m. cravings?

This was dangerous.

This will make me defy every promise I made to myself when I decided to accept this marriage.

"Let's check this one," he said, his deep voice pulling me from my thoughts as he connected to the car's navigation system. He was completely unaware of the emotional minefield unraveling in my chest.

I sank back into my seat, my heart a conflicting mess of emotions. I stared out the window, determined to focus on anything but him, anything but the warmth in his gestures that made me weak.

When we finally reached the store, my despair evaporated. My eyes lit up when I spotted the ice cream aisle, and I let out a squeal of victory when I found my beloved chocolate fudge brownie.

Ashton stood behind me, shaking his head, he muttered something I couldn't hear, probably about how insane I was. I grabbed a spoon and marched to the checkout like I'd just won the lottery.

In the car, I dug into the ice cream immediately, letting out a moan of satisfaction.

"You know," Ashton said, glancing at me with an amused smile, "I didn't realize ice cream could make someone so happy."

I shot him a mock glare, a spoonful of ice cream halfway to my mouth. "Want some?" I asked hoping he'd say no.

"No thanks," he said, his lips quirking up.

His smile was genuine. Soft. And it made my heart flutter in ways I didn't want to admit.

The ride home was quiet, except for Ashton's occasional glances in my direction. When we got back, I placed the ice cream in the freezer, guilt gnawing at me for dragging him out in the middle of the night.

As I reached the stairs, I called out for him, my voice softer than I intended. "Thank you," I murmured.

Ashton stopped mid-step, his hand resting on the banister. His sharp blue eyes flicked to mine, unreadable, before he moved closer.

"You've got..." he started, his voice low.

Before I could ask what, his hand reached out, his thumb brushing against the corner of my lips.

I froze, my breath catching as his touch lingered.

"You're still so clumsy," he murmured, the faintest smile playing on his lips as he wiped away a smudge of chocolate I hadn't even realized was there.

My heart thundered in my chest, the warmth of his thumb spreading like wildfire across my skin. His hand didn't pull back immediately; it stayed there, resting gently, as if the world had slowed to allow this single, fleeting moment.

His gaze locked with mine, and I felt like he was seeing me—not the woman who had made mistakes, not the one he resented, but just...me.

Goosebumps erupted all over my skin, and almost like he felt it too, he dropped his hand, breaking the contact that had me seconds away from a full mental shutdown.

"I'm sorry I woke you up at this time," I mumbled, desperate to say something, anything, to break the tension before my brain imploded.

He shook his head, "You don't have to apologize for that," He said ever so softly, like he actually meant it. See, he can be so sweet if he wants to.

"Just never do it again," he added.

See, he can be an asshole if he wants to.

I narrowed my eyes at him, glaring. He responded with a tiny smile, clearly enjoying himself. When did teasing me become his new favorite hobby?

I took a step back, my throat dry, my words coming out awkwardly, "So, um...are you going to sleep now?" I was too energized to sleep. Maybe it was the sugar rush, or the pregnancy, or the fact that I've slept till noon...

Ashton nodded, "Yeah," he checked his watch, "Because I have to wake up again in...one hour," he added.

Cue the guilt trip.

I nodded my head, "Okay," My voice was so small, "Well, thanks again."

I left him at the stairs and silently made my way to the living room, flopping onto the couch and turning on the TV. I aimlessly flipped through channels, my mind elsewhere.

Was I hoping he'd stay and sit with me? Maybe.

Today was the only time we had a normal interaction without it ending in a fight. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to just be around him without the weight of everything between us crushing me.

And honestly? I've been so alone here. He's always at work. I barely leave the house because, well, where would I even go? I don't know anyone here, and the time difference has made it impossible to call Cara or Alex. I just...ugh. Never mind.

A few minutes passed, the hum of the TV filling the empty space. Then, I heard it. A faint shuffling noise, like someone moving around nearby. My heart stopped.

Oh god. Skyla wasn't here. Ashton was supposed to be asleep. So...who—or what—was in the kitchen?

My first instinct was to panic, obviously. I opened my mouth to scream for Ashton to come and save me from this imaginary thief, when—

When he himself walked into the living room, looking completely unbothered, holding two steaming cups of tea in his hands.

I blinked at him, dumbfounded. What the—

"Ashton?"

He set one of the cups on the coffee table in front of me and plopped down on the couch, looking too casual for someone who should've been asleep. "Weren't you going to bed?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Figured I wasn't going to fall asleep anyway."

He picked up his cup and took a sip, "It's herbal tea, it can help you relax," He said, nodding ahead toward the cup he made for me.

See? This. This right here is dangerous. So, so dangerous.

"You didn't have to..." I murmured, picking up the cup. The soft aroma of chamomile and honey wafted up, wrapping around me like a warm hug.

I took a small sip, the sweetness hitting my tongue, the warmth seeping into my hands, and suddenly I wanted to do something wildly irrational. Like burst into tears. Or maybe leap across the couch and hug him until the world made sense again.

He kept his eyes on the TV, pretending to care about whatever was playing, but I knew better. He was just...sitting there, quietly keeping me company. Like I wanted him to. Like I needed him to.

I fidgeted with the edge of the cup, debating whether to say something or let the moment stretch out in its fragile, unexpected comfort.

"Ashton," I called softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

He looked at me, "Yeah?"

I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening. This wasn't the right time, was it? But when would it ever be?

"Are we ever going to talk about that night a week ago?" Maybe it was unwise to bring it up now, but we didn't address a thing about it, not my words or accusations. Not his father and his immense hate for me, nor...Ashton's confession to me when I was pretending to be fast asleep.

His fingers tightened over the cup in his hands and he shook his head, dismissing it instantly, "No, we won't."

I nodded my head, "Okay."

His jaw clenched, his gaze snapping back to the TV screen. I stared at him for a second longer, the words I wanted to say lodged stubbornly in my chest. But I let them go.

I settled deeper into the couch, letting the warmth of the tea and the quiet hum of the movie pull me away from my thoughts. The tension in the room ebbed ever so slightly, replaced by our unspoken truce.

I relaxed. Time slipped through my fingers and before I knew it, the edges of my vision blurred, and the heaviness of sleep tugged me under.

All I remember was the weightless sensation of being lifted, strong arms wrapping around me, holding me securely.

All I remember was the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear as my head rested against his chest, the faint scent of him—clean, warm, familiar—filling my senses.

All I remember was the gentle press of my pillow as he laid me down, and the soft rustle of the blanket as he tucked it beneath my chin.

And then, just before the darkness claimed me fully, there it was—the warm, feather-light brush of his lips against my temple. A fleeting touch that lingered in my dreams long after the night had faded.

It was soft. Unspoken. Everything he couldn't say—but everything I felt anyway.