Vincenzo Dante Volkov;

The moment I stepped out of the room, the smell of scrambled eggs hit me. With the chef on leave, I couldn’t help but wonder who was cooking.

I walked into the kitchen and froze when I saw her—my little mouse, making breakfast. Honestly, I had thought she left that night. I wasn’t expecting to see her here at all. Maybe... she was making breakfast for two?

She was wearing my shirt, and from the back, she looked small, almost fragile, and somehow, even more ...