He stood in the doorway, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets, looking at her as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He just nodded and walked into the living room.

Kiana set the vase on the windowsill and wiped her hands on a dish towel. Something was brewing. She felt it in her skin, her nerves, that ancient female instinct that never lied.

By evening, Darius started asking questions. They were sitting in the small eat‑in kitchen. She was warming up dinner while he scrolled on his phone.

Suddenly, without looking up, he said, “Hey, how much have you saved up for the renovation?”