Zeke pushed the door open, wheeling the boxes inside. He paused when he saw Michaela tucked into the couch, her tiny frame looking even smaller in the bare space.
Damn it, he cursed inwardly. He hadn't thought about furnishing the place. It looked more like a safehouse than a home.
After shutting the door, he pulled out his wallet and removed a sleek black credit card. "Take this," he said, offering it to Sydney.
She blinked. "What's that?"
"For running the house. I wasn't sure what to buy, so I figured it made more sense to wait until you were here."
"You don't have to do that alone," she said, hesitant. "I will contribute too, since I'm living here now."
"Just take the card," Zeke said firmly. "We might be married on paper, but I take my responsibilities seriously. Anything the house needs that's on me."
Sydney hesitated, weighing the gesture. Then she took it slowly. "Thank you."
"There's enough in there to cover everything. If you ever need more, just let me know."
She looked at him, surprised, not just at his generosity but at the calm practicality of it all.
He noticed. "Don't worry," he added, almost awkwardly. "I have been saving for a while. And I get extra dollars as a bonus."
What he didn't say was that he had transferred over fifty thousand dollars onto the card, partly out of duty, partly to test her. He still believed most women were after money. If she really was, she would show her hand soon enough.
"You can choose any room you want," he added. "And set one up for Michaela too. That one's mine." He pointed at the door to his room.
Sydney got the message loud and clear. Separate rooms.
She was fine with that. In fact, it suited her perfectly. This marriage was for her daughter, not for love. And once Michaela was older and understood the concept of a family, even a pretend one. Sydney wouldn't hesitate to suggest a divorce if things didn't work between them.
"Mick can sleep in my room," she said. "But I will still decorate a space for her."
Zeke nodded. "I can drive you to the market now if you want."
Sydney looked toward the couch. Michaela was still asleep.
Zeke followed her gaze and read her thoughts. "We can take her along," he said.
"Okay."
By the time they arrived at the shopping mall, Michaela had woken up, rubbing her eyes and clinging to her doll. She trotted beside them, wide-eyed as they walked through the aisles.
Sydney picked out a bed first, something simple, then bed sheets, a duvet, and matching pillowcases.
She paused, calculating. "Maybe we should just get the essentials today, the bed and a dining table. We can come back for the rest."
"Just place the order," Zeke said. "We will carry what we can. The rest will be delivered."
"That will cost a lot."
"Just a few dollars," he shrugged.
She gave him a sceptical look but complied. She ordered modest furniture sets, kitchen utensils, and only the necessary items.
She avoided high-end brands, sticking to affordable but durable options. Even when spending someone else's money, Sydney believed in being responsible.
Zeke noticed.
She was careful. Practical. Not once did she glance at the luxury section.
Quietly, he transferred more money onto the card without her knowing. Since the card was tied to his phone number, he would get alerts on her spending. He could track every purchase. Not because he cared about the money; he just wanted to monitor her spending.
"You can leave the washing machines," he told her. "I already ordered them."
That was a lie.
He just wanted to handle that part himself, to give her fewer decisions to worry about, and to get the best quality since he would be using them for his laundry.
Or maybe it was because she was being so reserved that he wanted to contribute something, anything.
They left the mall with a bed, a dining table, a set of chairs, and a few boxes of dishes.
When they pulled into Whitefield, Zeke parked the car and stepped out. "Take Michaela up. I will sort things out here."
Sydney looked at him. "Are you sure you can manage?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Michaela, let's go."
As she reached to lift her daughter, Michaela wriggled free and ran straight to Zeke, latching onto his hand.
"Daddy, let's go!" She said with a bright smile, tugging at him.
Zeke froze.
It hit him like a punch to the chest.
Sydney's eyes widened, caught between surprise and comfort. She opened her mouth to call her daughter back, but seeing how Zeke looked down at the child, she paused.
And smiled.
"Hey, kiddo," Zeke said gently, crouching to Michaela's level. "Please go with mommy."
Michaela pouted slightly, clutching his fingers. "Are you coming?"
"Yes, my princess," he said, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. "I will be right behind you."
That seemed to satisfy her. She let go of his hand and walked back toward Sydney, who stood watching the exchange with a tightness in her chest she couldn't quite name.
Seeing how easily Michaela was warming up to Zeke stirred something deep inside her, a flicker of reassurance, maybe even hope.
For so long, it had just been the two of them. She had spent countless nights worrying about what kind of emotional void her daughter might grow up with.
But now, seeing her daughter's smile and the way she looked at Zeke like he was some kind of hero, Sydney felt for the first time in a long while that maybe she had made the right decision.
Not for herself. She wasn't sure she would ever be able to say that.
But for Michaela? Absolutely.
As they stepped into the elevator, Sydney turned to glance back at Zeke through the closing doors. He gave a small nod.
Once they were gone, Zeke exhaled and pulled out his phone. He dialled.
"Bring the crew up," he said, his voice returning to its usual low, commanding tone. "Use the service lift. Quietly."