Rael Mansion Kitchen
Aira stood barefoot on the cold marble floor, hair a mess of half-dried waves, wearing Aceon’s oversized hoodie that she'd stolen the night before.
She didn’t ask to steal it. She just couldn’t find her own clothes and didn’t want to wake him.
She sipped her coffee in silence, eyes scanning her tablet, already editing neural wave input algorithms for her latest AI module.
Then, from the hallway, she heard a familiar smug voice.
“Wow. You look like a tiny serial killer in my favorite hoodie.”
She didn’t look up. “It’s warm. And better than the trash you designed for my closet.”
Aceon strolled in, shirtless, in loose grey joggers, carrying two mugs of black coffee and a slice of mango on a fork like a peace offering.
He leaned against the counter. “I had my team design you a walk-in wardrobe with biometric locks and smart fabric sensors.”
Aira looked up, unimpressed. “You gave me thirty designer dresses and not a single pair of cargo pants. Are you trying to make me useless?”
“I was trying to make you sexy.”
“I’m a doctor.”
“You’re my doctor-wife.”
“I’m calling HR.”
Aceon grinned as he slid the fork toward her lips. “Come on. One bite.”
She looked at him like he was holding radioactive poison.
“You eat it first.”
He paused. “You think I poisoned a mango slice… to kill you?”
“I don’t trust men with cheekbones sharper than my scalpel.”
He popped the mango in his own mouth. “Happy?”
Aira nodded. “Still not eating it.”
Later in Rael Lab Wing,
Aceon trailed behind her as Aira stormed through the lab, tablet in hand, barking orders to the AI assistant.
“X7 unit delta — recalibrate limb stabilization. Riven, don’t touch that—it's temperature sensitive. Reya, stop live-tweeting our private weapon schematics.”
Reya, feet on the console, smirked. “Relax. I’m just putting vague nonsense on Twitter to confuse government bots. Look—‘Today I injected a nanobot into my cat. It now speaks Mandarin.’”
Riven: "That’s not funny."
Reya: "That’s because you have the emotional range of a tactical boot."
Riven: "I wear combat boots."
Reya: "Explains everything."
Aira muttered, “God, I’m surrounded by toddlers with death licenses.”
Aceon leaned on the console beside her. “They’re entertaining toddlers. And you secretly love the chaos.”
She didn’t answer. Just scrolled faster.
“You’re smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
She glared at him. “Get out of my lab.”
He leaned closer, voice low. “Make me.”
Her hand flew out—he ducked the incoming tablet with a laugh.
“You’re predictable, Doc.”
“You’re annoying, Rael.”
At the Hospital
Later that day, Aira strode into Rael Private Hospital—funded entirely by Aceon but run like a military-grade institution. She wore her white coat like armor, hair tied in a high knot, her glasses balanced neatly on her nose. Pure war mode.
Behind her, Aceon followed casually, in dark sunglasses and a tailored coat, attracting stares from nurses and staff like a walking storm cloud of charisma.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” she hissed as they entered the neurosurgical wing.
“I’m here to observe. Maybe play a dying patient for fun.”
“I will lobotomize you.”
“You say the sweetest things.”
A passing nurse whispered to her colleague, “Is that Aceon Rael following Dr. Verma?”
“I thought he was her bodyguard.”
Aira overheard and rolled her eyes. “Can you please go pretend to be a celebrity somewhere else?”
“I already am. I’m just a supportive husband now too.”
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