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 honeymoon in the Maldives had been a blur of turquoise water, white sand, and a level of physical intimacy that had left both Zayden and Ysabella in a state of permanent, glowing exhaustion. But since their return to the glass-and-steel reality of Manila, the "Director of the 42nd Floor" had undergone a transformation that no amount of corporate auditing could have predicted.
Ysabella had become a shadow. Not the "ghost" she was when they first met, but a warm, persistent, and incredibly clingy presence that refused to let Zayden out of her sight for more than five minutes.
In the executive suite of Spencer Global, the high-stakes atmosphere had shifted. The glass doors that usually signaled "Do Not Disturb" were now perpetually open for one person.
Zayden sat at his massive mahogany desk, the afternoon sun glinting off his golden hair. He was focused on a series of complex shipping manifests for the Thorne Art expansion, his gold fountain pen scratching rhythmically across the parchment.
But he wasn't alone in his chair.
Ysabella was draped across him, her legs tucked over the armrest and her head nestled in the crook of his neck. She was wearing one of his white shirts—oversized and smelling of his sandalwood cologne—over a pair of silk leggings. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his shoulders, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
"Hubby..." she whispered, her voice a soft, needy vibration against his skin. She bit her lower lip, her hazel eyes looking up at him with a pleading intensity that could dismantle a world-class security system. "I want to eat..."
Zayden didn't stop signing, but a slow, fond smile spread across his face. He leaned his head to the side, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. "You just had a snack twenty minutes ago, wifey. Are the Spencer accounts making you that hungry?"
"No," Ysabella pouted, her grip tightening. "I want... I want that spicy beef brisket with the extra leeks. The one from that hole-in-the-wall place near the docks."
Zayden stopped mid-signature. He turned his head to look at her, his blue eyes wide with genuine surprise.
"The spicy brisket?" Zayden asked, a chuckle bubbling in his chest. "Wifey, that's my favorite. Akala ko ba ayaw mo nyan dahil di mo gusto yung lasa. You told me last month it smelled too much like star anise and fire."
Ysabella huffed, burying her face in his neck again, her breath hot against his skin. "Gusto ko eh. Change of mind. Hmph. Just get it for me, Zayden. Now."
Zayden's smile widened. He reached for his desk phone, barking a quick order to Marcus to have the brisket delivered immediately—and to make it a double portion.
"Your wish is my command, Mrs. Spencer," Zayden murmured, dropping the pen and shifting his weight so he could pull her more securely into his lap. He cupped her face, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "You've been acting very strange lately. Clingy, moody... and now you're stealing my taste buds."
"I'm not being strange," she mumbled, though she didn't pull away. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut. "I just... I don't like it when you're busy. When you're looking at the papers and not at me. It makes me feel... lonely."
Zayden felt a sharp pang of protective love. He knew she was a brilliant, independent woman who ran an entire floor of the building, but this new, vulnerable side of her was doing things to his heart that he couldn't quantify.
"I'm always looking at you, Ysa," he whispered, capturing her lips in a soft, reassuring kiss. "Even when I'm reading documents, I'm thinking about you."
The brisket arrived fifteen minutes later. Ysabella attacked the food with a ferocity that Zayden found both terrifying and adorable. She ate every bit of the spicy beef, including the leeks she used to pick out, her face flushed from the heat of the chili.
Zayden watched her, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. He noticed the way her skin seemed to glow, the slight fullness in her cheeks, and the way she seemed to be radiating a warmth that filled the entire office.
As soon as the last piece of brisket was gone, the energy seemed to drain out of her in an instant. Ysabella let out a tiny, contented sigh, wiped her mouth with a silk napkin, and immediately slumped against Zayden's chest.
Within seconds, her breathing leveled out into a deep, rhythmic hum. She had fallen fast asleep, her fingers still curled into the fabric of his office suit.
Zayden stayed perfectly still. He didn't want to wake her, even though he had a board meeting in ten minutes. He looked down at his wife—the "Human Calculator" who was currently drooling slightly on his lap—and felt a wave of suspicion wash over him.
The clinginess. The mood swings. The sudden, violent craving for his favorite, spicy foods.
Zayden reached for his phone, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn't call Marcus this time. He called the Spencer family physician.
"Doctor? I need you to come to the penthouse tonight," Zayden whispered into the phone, his eyes never leaving Ysabella's sleeping face. "No, no one is hurt. I just... I think the 'Mini-Shark' might have already arrived at the docks."
That evening, the atmosphere in the penthouse was thick with a nervous, electric tension. Ysabella had woken up from her office nap in a foul mood because Zayden had dared to move her to the sofa so he could finish a conference call. She had spent the last hour in the kitchen, eating green mangoes with bagoong—another food she usually claimed made her stomach turn.
"Ysa, wifey? The doctor is here," Zayden said, walking into the kitchen.
Ysabella looked up, a piece of green mango halfway to her mouth. Her eyes narrowed. "Why? I'm not sick. I'm just hungry and you're being annoying."
"I know I'm annoying," Zayden said, walking over and gently taking the mango from her hand. He pulled her into his arms, his chin resting on top of her head. "But I just want to make sure you're okay. You've been... different."
"I'm fine!" she snapped, then immediately burst into tears, burying her face in his chest. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm crying. I'm just so happy and so mad at the same time!"
Zayden shared a knowing look with the doctor, who was standing in the foyer with a professional, amused smile.
Ten minutes later, the results were in. The simple, high-tech test Zayden had insisted on gave them the answer in less than sixty seconds.
Ysabella sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, her hands trembling as she looked at the digital readout. Two solid, unwavering lines.
"Oh," she whispered, her hazel eyes widening. "Oh, Zayden."
Zayden was frozen. He stood in the middle of the living room, a man who had built an empire, staring at a small piece of plastic as if it were the most complicated ledger in existence. Then, a slow, radiant smile broke across his face—a smile so bright it eclipsed the skyline outside.
"A mini-shark," Zayden breathed, his voice cracking.
He crossed the room in two strides, dropping to his knees in front of her. He took her hands in his, kissing the diamond on her finger and then her palms.
"You're pregnant," he whispered, looking up at her with a reverence that made Ysabella's heart overflow. "We're having a baby, Ysa."
"That's why I wanted your brisket," Ysabella laughed through her tears, her hands going to her still-flat stomach. "The baby already has your taste in food. We're in so much trouble, Zayden."
"I don't care," Zayden growled, pulling her into a hard, protective hug. "I'll buy every brisket place in Manila. I'll turn the 42nd floor into a nursery if I have to."
He pulled back, his blue eyes turning serious, the "Level 5 Security" mode already clicking into place.
"No more stairs," Zayden commanded, pointing a finger at her. "And no more late-night audits. I want Marcus to follow you even when you go to the bathroom. And we need to talk about the air quality in the office—"
"Zayden!" Ysabella laughed, grabbing his face and kissing him soundly to shut him up. "I'm pregnant, not made of glass. I still have a foundation to run."
"You have a legacy to carry," Zayden countered, his hand resting gently over hers on her stomach. "And I'm going to make sure the world is ready for it."
And as Ysabella leaned against her husband, her heart finally balanced, she knew that the clinginess, the cravings, and the mood swings were just the beginning of the most beautiful audit they would ever perform.