Disclaimer: The author's imagination and passion are the only sources of inspiration for this novel, which is a work of dedication. Parallels between these pages and the past or present may be apparent to some readers, but they are completely coincidental. You are free to interpret this art anyway you see fit, and it is meant for your enjoyment.
The Spencer penthouse was unnaturally quiet. For the first time since Zeke's birth, the rhythmic hum of the nursery monitor was silent. Their "Mini-Shark" was currently the center of a high-security adoration circle at the Ramirez household. Christian and Eloise had practically staged a friendly kidnapping, backed by Zayden's parents, Arthur and Elena, who had provided the armored motorcade just to spend forty-eight hours spoiling their grandson.
Zayden stood in the foyer, adjusting the cuffs of his casual charcoal shirt. Without the baby carrier strapped to his chest, he looked leaner, more dangerous—like the man who had once ruled the docks with a cold, singular focus.
"Wifey? If we don't leave in five minutes, Marcus is going to think we've been compromised and breach the bedroom," Zayden called out, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
Ysabella emerged, looking radiant. The soft curves of her post-pregnancy body had settled into a lush, womanly elegance that made Zayden's pulse skip a beat. She was wearing a simple wrap dress, her hazel eyes bright with the rare excitement of a night without diaper bags or scheduled feedings.
"I'm coming, hubby! I just had to make sure Zeke's emergency ledger was updated for Mama," she said, tucking a stray strand of raven-black hair behind her ear.
"He's with four grandparents and a retired tactical team, Ysa. I think his milk-to-sleep ratio is well-documented," Zayden laughed, pulling her into his arms. He kissed her forehead, his hands lingering on her waist. "Tonight is about the Director and the Boss. No audits. No shipping lanes. Just us."
They ended up at an exclusive boutique in Greenbelt—a place where the doors stayed locked to the public and the champagne flowed as freely as the silk. Zayden had insisted on a "wardrobe refresh" for their upcoming anniversary gala, but as Ysabella browsed the racks, the atmosphere shifted from retail therapy to something far more electric.
She pulled a daring, floor-length gown of emerald silk from the rack. It was backless, held together by a series of delicate gold chains and a single, stubborn zipper at the base of the spine.
"I'll try this one," she whispered, catching Zayden's gaze in the mirror. He was leaning against a velvet pillar, watching her with an intensity that made her skin hum.
Inside the oversized, mirrored fitting room, Ysabella struggled with the garment. The silk was cool against her skin, but the zipper remained tantalizingly out of reach.
"Hubby, can you help me for a second?" she called out, her voice slightly muffled by the heavy velvet curtain.
The curtain slid open and shut with a soft whoosh.
Zayden stepped into the cramped, brightly lit space. The scent of his sandalwood cologne immediately filled the small room, clashing with the floral notes of her perfume. He stood behind her, his large, warm hands resting on her bare shoulders.
As his fingers found the gold tab of the zipper, his chest pressed against her back. Through the thin silk, Ysabella felt him—hard, unyielding, and clearly affected by the sight of her bare skin.
She bit her lower lip, a naughty spark igniting in her hazel eyes. She didn't move away. Instead, she reached back, her hand sliding down to find the prominent, hard bulge straining against his designer trousers.
Zayden let out a sharp, guttural hiss of air, his grip on the zipper tightening. "Ysa... we have a dinner reservation."
"Let's do it here, in the fitting room," she whispered into his ear, turning slightly to catch his lips in a searing, hungry kiss. Her fingers squeezed him through the fabric, a bold challenge to his self-control. "The Director wants to perform an on-site inspection."
Zayden didn't need a second invitation. He spun her around, his mouth devouring hers as he hiked the emerald silk up to her waist. He made quick work of his own clothes, his movements frantic and possessive.
He lifted her, her legs wrapping instinctively around his hips as he pressed her against the cool glass of the mirror. The contrast of the cold mirror and his burning skin made Ysabella gasp.
"Cover your mouth, wifey," Zayden growled, his voice a predatory rasp. "Unless you want the sales clerk to know exactly how much the Boss misses his Queen."
He entered her in one deep, soul-shattering thrust. Ysabella's head tossed back, her eyes fluttering shut as she bit her hand to stifle a scream. He was deep—hitting her sweet spot with every relentless, rhythmic drive.
"H-hubby..." she gasped, her body arching into his. The pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave that washed away months of sleepless nights and parental stress. "Z-zayden... right there..."
"You like that, wifey? It feels good?" Zayden murmured, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. His hands moved to the front, massaging her swollen, sensitive nipples through the lace of her bra. He felt her internal muscles tighten around him, a desperate, pulsing welcome.
"They might hear us... if you keep hitting my... sweet spot," Ysabella whimpered, her hazel eyes clouded with bliss.
Zayden didn't slow down. He increased the pace, his breath coming in ragged bursts. He was a man possessed, claiming her in the silence of the boutique with a primal intensity. He felt the familiar, mounting tension in his core, the "Alpha" instinct taking over as he reached the peak.
With a final, deep surge, he groaned into her neck, shooting his milk deep inside her, his body shuddering with a release that felt like a supernova. Ysabella collapsed against him, her breathing shallow and frantic, her forehead resting against the mirror.
The silence that followed was heavy, filled only with the sound of their synchronized heartbeats. Zayden stayed buried inside her for a long moment, his forehead resting against the back of her head, his arms holding her as if she were the most precious asset in the world.
Slowly, he withdrew, helping her adjust the emerald dress. He reached back and, with a steady hand, finally slid the gold zipper up to the top.
"Z-zayden... let's buy this dress. It looks really good," Ysabella whispered, biting her lip as she checked her reflection. Her hair was a mess, and her lips were swollen from his kisses, but her eyes had a glow that no makeup could replicate.
Zayden tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his thumb tracing the curve of her lip. He let out a low, satisfied chuckle, the "Shark" back in his eyes.
"Consider it done, wifey," he murmured, kissing her temple. "But don't be surprised if I ask you to try it on again the moment we get home. I think the emerald brings out the... 'Director' in you."
As they walked out of the fitting room, Ysabella smoothed her hair, her professional mask sliding back into place. Zayden handed his black credit card to the stunned-looking sales clerk without looking at the price tag.
"We'll take the emerald dress. And everything else she tried on," Zayden commanded, his voice back to its executive tone.
As they stepped back into the cool evening air of Makati, Ysabella leaned into him, her hand resting on his arm. The "date night" had barely started, but the audit was already a resounding success.
"Hubby?" she whispered as they walked toward the waiting car.
"Yes, wifey?"
"I think we might need to update the nursery blueprints again in a few weeks," she teased, her eyes twinkling.
Zayden stopped, looking down at her with a mix of shock and pure, unadulterated hope. "Already? You think...?"
"The Director has a hunch, Zayden. And my hunches are usually 100% accurate."
Zayden laughed, pulling her into a hard, joyous hug right there on the sidewalk. "Then I'll start looking for a pink sailboat, Ysa. Because if Zeke is the King of the Docks, his sister is going to need a fleet of her own."