"I love you," I declare, my lips meeting his in a sweet farewell as he stands by the front door, about to go back to New York. "I've missed you so much, I slept here to smell you," I confess against his lingering kiss. The driver takes his luggage from the door to the waiting limo. Mr. Silence disappears into the bedroom for a moment, returning with a beautifully wrapped gift box. Handing it to me, he places a soft kiss on my cheek.
The dark blue box with Harry Winston's logo screams expensive. Grinning with anticipation, I open it. But as I gaze upon the extravagant diamond necklace inside, disappointment fills me.
The necklace drapes like liquid starlight. A cascade of flawless, brilliant-cut diamonds fans out from a slender, platinum chain, each stone arranged in a delicate gradient, from smaller, glittering gems near the clasp to larger, more commanding jewels near the center. At its heart, a teardrop-shaped diamond hangs, suspended in perfect symmetry, its clarity so pure it seems to glow from within.
"It's... lovely," I say, though my voice betrays me. I should be happy he thought of me enough to buy me a gift, but the diamond's sparkling glare is a blunt reminder that he doesn't know what I like.
His smile fades, replaced by concern. "You don't like it."
I bite my lip, wishing I hadn't shown my true feelings so plainly. "It's beautiful," I assure him, "but... I can't help but think of blood diamonds. I'm sure these aren't lab-created?" The processes of mining natural diamonds are primarily unethical.
He shakes his head, his expression unreadable now. I close the box and leave it half hanging off the stand next to our front door. Enveloping him in a reassuring hug, I say, "My love, you don't have to bring me gifts from your trips. Instead of presents, can you try to come back to me sooner, if possible? I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I think it's best if you return it?"
His expression serious, he brings my bruised wrist to his mouth, his eyes pierce mine, "What do you like?" His kiss hurts a little.
"Pearls are my favorite. They're the only gemstone that comes from a living organism and bodies of water, and after Kokichi Mikimoto perfected cultured pearls, they're considered the most sustainable–" I speak so fast that I don't realize until he silences me with his lips.
I wonder if it's his intense kiss that leaves me with this blissful feeling, making me less sad than usual as I watch him grab the box and walk out of our front yard.
###
"What… you can't be serious?" Dr. Halvorsen's voice comes out sharper than intended. He stares at the sample on his desk, then slowly lifts his gaze to Mohamad. His best friend. His MIT roommate. The man he's watched dismantle billion-dollar systems without blinking — now standing in front of him like this.
He exhales through his nose, controlled, analytical, buying himself a second. They've been through everything together. Late-night research. Impossible theories. Project Eve — their shared obsession since undergrad. But this? This wasn't part of any model. Any projection. Any rational timeline.
More annoyingly, Halvorsen had somehow become Mohamad's personal physician — even before he finished medical school. A responsibility he'd accepted half in jest… and never quite escaped.
Now Mohamad — the coldest, most precise mind he knows — is handing him a sperm sample. For testing. For Project Eve.
Halvorsen's eyes flick toward Jason. Jason raises both hands in surrender. "Don't look at me. I didn't see this coming either."
Halvorsen looks back at Mohamad. Studies him. Pulse steady. Posture rigid. Eyes… not. Something is off.
Not impulsive. Mohamad is never impulsive. This is deliberate. Which makes it worse.
"What exactly," Halvorsen says slowly, his voice settling into clinical calm, "changed your mind?"
"You said we should—"
"And you dismissed it." Halvorsen cuts in quietly. "For years."
Their eyes lock. Silence stretches between them — familiar, practiced. Their usual way of communicating when words would only get in the way. Halvorsen watches carefully, parsing microexpressions, searching for deviation. Mohamad holds still, but the stillness itself is the clue. Too controlled. Too intentional.
Halvorsen's brows draw together slightly. Something fundamental has shifted. Not logic. Not strategy. Something internal.
He leans back a fraction, voice softer now, more concerned than confrontational."This isn't theoretical anymore, is it?"
There. The blink. So fast most people would miss it. But Halvorsen doesn't. Mohamad only blinks like that when something slips past his control — embarrassment, discomfort, something dangerously personal.
Halvorsen's mouth curves before he can stop it. Not amusement. Recognition. Mohamad turns and walks away without another word. Jason stays. Waiting.
The door closes. Silence settles. Then—"What's happening?" Jason asks.
Halvorsen exhales a quiet laugh as he opens his drawer. He pulls out a file he already knows by heart and slides it across the desk. "Her."
Jason's eyes widen as he reads the header. Project Eve: Ai Chan Yeol.
"No." Jason's voice cuts in sharply. He doesn't move, but the tension in his shoulders tightens. "You can't test mine against her."
Halvorsen pauses, glancing up. "He didn't say we couldn't. He dropped off his sample for genetic compatibility. That's implied."
"No." Jason shakes his head, eyes still fixed on the file. "You don't understand. If he finds out you're testing all of us against her—"
Halvorsen laughs softly, the excitement already building, analytical curiosity overtaking caution. "So what? That's the entire point of Project Eve." He lifts the sample tube between his fingers. "We optimize. Compare. Select the highest viability pairing. He knows that. He suggested that!"
His eyes flick back to the file, then to Jason. "The most genetically resilient child," he continues, voice lowering with restrained intensity. "The first human designed to survive artificial gestation."
Halvorsen moves quickly toward the lab. Jason follows immediately, catching up and stepping in front of him.
"No. This is different." Jason blocks his path, his tone low but urgent. "It's personal for him. You know that. I know that."
Halvorsen lets out a quiet laugh, unable to hide the amusement. Of course he knows. That's exactly why this is interesting. "But he didn't say anything," Halvorsen replies calmly. "He dropped off a sample."
He steps closer, voice lowering conspiratorially. "Aren't you curious how he'll react when the compatibility reports come back?"
Jason freezes. Swallows. Halvorsen's smirk deepens. Yes… he is very curious. Mohamad is predictable in everything—except when emotions are involved. And this? This would force one.
He sidesteps Jason and continues down the hallway.
Jason's voice echoes after him, louder now, stripped of composure. "This is a bad idea!"