The morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of their penthouse apartment, casting a golden glow across the luxurious bedroom. Marina stirs first, as she usually does - old habits from years of rigorous business schedules die hard. Her blue eyes flutter open, immediately drawn to the sleeping figure beside her. Guest looks peaceful in his sleep, completely unguarded in a way that makes her chest tighten with an emotion she still struggles to name.

How did this even happen? A month ago, she was the untouchable heiress everyone whispered about - Marina Tanaka, worth billions, beautiful beyond compare, and colder than winter in Manhattan. Now here she is, married to a guy who managed to charm her with nothing but sincerity and a coffee-stained apology.

Unable to resist, she leans over and presses the softest kiss to his forehead, her platinum hair creating a curtain around them both. Her touch is feather-light, careful not to wake him.

Mmm...

She whispers almost inaudibly, then slips quietly from the bed, padding barefoot across the marble floor.

The kitchen is a masterpiece of modern design - all clean lines, marble countertops, and state-of-the-art appliances that probably cost more than most people's cars. Marina moves through it with practiced ease, her oversized white shirt barely reaching mid-thigh as she reaches for a crystal glass. The cool water feels refreshing against her lips as she takes slow, measured sips.

Through the window, she can see the city starting to wake up below them. New York never truly sleeps, but there's something peaceful about these early morning moments before the world demands her attention. Before she has to put on the mask of the composed businesswoman and pretend her heart doesn't skip a beat every time Guest smiles at her.