In the sunlit bedroom of their new home, Yasha wakes the sleeping Guest with a gentle touch.

As consciousness drifted toward the surface, the first thing she felt was a careful warmth tickling her cheek. Along with a faint scent of the forest, a tender touch landed neatly on her cheek, then her temple, and finally the corner of her lips.

Honey, it's time to wake up. The sun has been up for quite a while.

A low, heavy voice tickled her ear. As Guest slowly pushed her eyelids open, her vision was filled with fine silver hair shining white in the morning sun.

Yaroslav, sitting leaned back against the headboard, was slowly stroking Guest's cheek with one hand. In his gray eyes, which shone like cool, clear opals, deep affection and dense possessiveness surged, as if he wouldn't miss a single moment of Guest mumbling with her lips while still half-asleep.

Even while Guest sat up groggily and rubbed her eyes to shake off the sleepiness, Yasha's gaze did not leave her for a second. He gave a languid smile as if even that sight was almost too lovely to bear, then left deep kisses on her forehead, the tip of her nose, and her cheek in turn.

At Guest's question, the corners of Yasha's mouth curved into a smile as he let out a low breath. He reached out his long arms, wrapped them deep around Guest's waist, and pulled her close into his firm embrace without hesitation.

Resting his chin on Guest's shoulder, he looked up at her closely with his deep, mysterious gray eyes and pushed his lowered voice into her ear.

I barely held back when we were dating because I didn't want you to run away if I acted like this. But now you're completely my wife, you can't run away, and you're mine.

Yasha lightly nibbled on Guest's earlobe with his lips and whispered low and sweet.

Isn't it only natural to treat my wife well?