To Love A Villain

Chapter 252: Side Story - Little Things

>>Third Person POV

The echo of keys turning in the door was subtle, but the thrum of strength behind it was unmistakable—Hael was home.

It was late into the night, the moon a pale half-coin in the sky. After days of business, negotiations, and handshakes that felt more like veiled threats than greetings, he had finally returned back to the country. All he had wanted as the car rolled through the gates was a warm dinner, the soft press of Amber’s hands, and the sound of little feet thumping across the floor.

But he never expected to be greeted by sickness.

The moment he stepped inside, the air felt different—still thick with the scent of lavender oil and cinnamon tea, but clinging to it was something else. Fatigue. Illness.

"Orenya?" he called, closing the door behind him.

Footsteps shuffled down the hallway. Amber emerged slowly from the shadows, a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her hair loosely tied, pale skin flushed unnaturally. She was cradling Zola in her arms—barely. Her grip was protective but trembling, and even through the warmth of seeing them again, Hael’s heart dropped.

"You’re—" he began to say, but Zola squealed in delight and twisted out of Amber’s arms, flinging herself toward him like a comet of joy.

"Da-da!" she cried.

Hael caught her, strong arms instantly wrapping around her small, wriggling body. She had grown even in the days he was gone—her legs longer, her hair wilder, and her energy more chaotic.

But as soon as she was safely in his arms and he looked back up—

Amber collapsed.

"Amber!" he cried, lunging forward with Zola still in his arms.

She slumped to the floor like a leaf falling from a tree, the blanket pooling around her, eyes fluttering shut. Hael barely caught her before her head hit the tile, dropping to his knees as he held her up with one arm and held Zola tight in the other.

Her breathing was shallow but steady, and sweat glistened at her hairline. "I—I wanted to welcome you," she whispered weakly, trying to smile, "but I think I’ve pushed too hard."

Hael’s chest twisted. "Amber, why didn’t you rest? Why didn’t you—?"

She shook her head faintly. "Zola needed me. She was missing you. She’s been running all over, Hael... And the nanny is on leave..."

"I’m here now," he whispered, brushing the damp strands from her forehead. "You don’t have to do it alone."

Zola, sensing something wrong, pressed her tiny hand to her mother’s cheek. "Ma-ma?"

Amber weakly turned to her, smiling with a mother’s determination. "Mama’s okay, darling. Just tired."

But Hael had seen enough. He cradled Zola closer, then used his free hand to lift Amber into his arms with the ease of a man who had carried heavier burdens, but none more precious.

"We’re going to bed. All of us," he said softly.

He carried them both—Zola holding onto his coat, Amber against his chest—into the bedroom. The sheets were still warm, evidence of a mother who hadn’t left her child’s side even when her own strength failed her.

Hael tucked Amber in gently, then turned to Zola, who looked between her parents, confused.

He kissed her forehead. "Shhh. Mama’s just sleepy. We’re going to take care of her."

Zola whimpered softly, reaching toward her mother. Hael settled beside them both, letting Zola curl up on his chest, her thumb in her mouth and one fist gripping his shirt.

There was no dinner. No warm welcome.

But there was this.

Hael lay awake long after they both slept. Watching Amber’s chest rise and fall. Feeling Zola’s heartbeat against his own.

And for the first time in days, he felt like he was home. Because he was home and nothing else mattered.

***

Amber stirred slowly, her eyelids heavy, lashes brushing against the pillow as her body gradually awoke from deep, fever-drenched rest. The softness of the bed beneath her felt like clouds—far more luxurious than she remembered—and the room was still and quiet.

For a moment, she smiled.

Hael had come home.

But then, she blinked, and her hand reached out to the side of the bed where he should have been... only to be met with cool, empty sheets.

Her smile faded slightly.

Had she dreamed it?

The rush of warmth, the sound of his voice, the strength of his arms carrying her...

She slowly sat up, the blanket pooling in her lap, brushing back the curtain of hair that fell across her shoulder. The fever was better now—still lingering, but faint, and her body no longer trembled. But the ache in her heart... that resurfaced.

Until she smelled it.

The unmistakable scent of toasted bread, eggs, warm butter, and something sweet—berries, maybe cinnamon. Her eyes widened slightly. She swung her feet off the bed and stood slowly, steadying herself with one hand on the headboard.

The housemaid was on leave—Amber had insisted she take the week to visit her family. And if breakfast was being made...

Amber followed the smell.

The hallway was quiet, the morning light filtering in gently through the tall windows. When she reached the archway of the lounge, a soft sound met her ears: a pan being set down, a spatula tapping against the stove. She turned the corner and paused at the threshold.

There he was.

Hael stood in the open kitchen, still in his dark sleep shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, his long hair tied back messily. He was setting two plates onto the table—perfectly arranged, with eggs, toast, fruit, and a small bowl of oatmeal that was clearly meant for Zola, who sat in her high chair nearby, gleefully banging a wooden spoon on the tray.

Amber’s heart swelled.

He hadn’t just come back. He hadn’t just let her rest. He was caring for them.

Even after long trips, long nights, and the weight of his duties—Hael was still here, making sure they were okay.

He looked up as if sensing her presence, his expression softening the second their eyes met.

"You’re up," he said, a hint of relief in his voice. "You look better."

Amber stepped inside, brushing her fingers across the back of one of the dining chairs. "You cooked."

"The housemaid’s off till tomorrow." He lifted Zola’s spoon from her hand before she could launch it across the room. "Figured we shouldn’t starve."

Amber chuckled faintly, walking over to kiss Zola’s head. "What did I do to deserve you?"

Hael looked at her, serious and steady. "You gave me this." He nodded toward their daughter, who was now trying to squish a berry between her fingers. "Everything else is easy."

Amber blinked away the warmth in her eyes and took her seat at the table. Hael pulled out a chair beside her and sat down, his leg brushing gently against hers under the table.

They all ate quietly at first—Zola, gurgling and humming through bites of her oatmeal, Amber savoring the warmth of eggs and tea, and Hael taking measured bites of toast in between helping Zola eat. No maids. No guards. No magic, no grandeur. Just them, in the cocoon of their home, where the simplest things carried the deepest joy.

Amber looked across the table, meeting Hael’s eyes again.

"I’m really grateful," she said softly.

He reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Just rest today. I’ve got her."

***

Amber’s eyes fluttered open slowly for the second time that day, this time to the dimming hues of late afternoon. A golden haze filled the bedroom, filtered through the sheer curtains, and the soft hum of quiet breathing caught her ears.

She turned gently.

There, sprawled across the lounge rug with a plush blanket draped lazily over them, were Hael and Zola—father and daughter both deep in sleep. Hael lay on his side, one arm protectively curled around their daughter’s tiny form, while Zola’s head rested comfortably against his chest, her fist curled up near her cheek.

Amber smiled softly, the image before her warming her already mended heart. She took a moment longer to watch them, then slowly got up.

Her body still ached a little, but her fever had truly broken, and with it returned a bit of her usual energy. She tiptoed out of the room and toward the kitchen with purpose in her step and something glowing quietly inside her chest.

Today, she’d cook for them.

The kitchen came alive under her hands. She wasn’t a master chef, but over the years she had become something much more personal—a cook who understood the taste of her small family. Hael liked rich, slow-cooked flavors. Zola liked things soft, with a hint of sweetness. She remembered what her husband had done that morning, and she wanted to return that warmth.

By the time the sun dipped lower in the sky, the table was full.

Grilled salmon with buttery herb sauce, roasted vegetables, spiced rice, a light chicken soup for herself, and a special mashed sweet potato blend for Zola—garnished just the way her baby liked. She even brewed Hael’s favorite tea and set out a dish of honey-cinnamon biscuits she had learned from the café.

And just as she was setting the final plate down, she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps.

Hael entered the room, shirt slightly rumpled, eyes still a little heavy with sleep. In his arms, Zola peeked out—one eye squinted open, a mess of hair falling over her face, her cheek pressed to her father’s collarbone. Hael took a deep inhale, stopped mid-step, and tilted his head with a sleepy grin.

"...Did I die in my sleep?" he murmured, gaze sweeping across the full table. "Because this looks suspiciously like a reward in the afterlife."

Amber laughed and placed the last spoon down. "This should’ve been yesterday. But... better late than never, right?"

Hael walked over and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Right."

He settled Zola into her high chair—who now was wide-eyed and blinking at the sight of so much food—and took his seat beside Amber, rubbing his hand through his hair as if still trying to fully wake up.

They began to eat.

Hael hummed in appreciation after the first bite, clearly impressed. "You’ve really gotten good at this," he said, helping Zola scoop a spoonful of her mashed sweet potatoes.

Amber smiled, watching her daughter smack her lips with a delighted little coo. "Well, I wasn’t always this way."

"No," Hael agreed with a smirk. "In our previous life, you were awful. Burnt rice. Charred eggs. That weird soup that nearly ended us both."

She gave him a playful shove. "Excuse you. I was trying."

"And nearly poisoning us in the process." Amber had made a few attempts to cook in their previous life, but nearly all of them were disastrous. And Hael had told her again and again to leave the cooking to him or to the kitchen staff.

Amber rolled her eyes, cheeks flushed with laughter. "Okay, fine. I wasn’t good in this life either. But I’ve been learning. Since we got married. Since... since we became a family."

Hael looked at her then. There was warmth in his expression, something deep and steady. He reached for her hand beneath the table, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.

"Well," he said, "if this is what ’learning’ looks like, then I hope you keep going."

Zola babbled then, slapping her spoon against her tray, effectively drawing their attention again. Amber leaned in to wipe the baby’s cheek, giggling as Zola leaned into her mother’s touch, humming in approval.

Dinner went on like that—sweet, unhurried, and full of warmth. Every bite tasted better not just because of the food, but because of what it stood for: care, effort, growth, and the love that made their house a home.

As the plates cleared and the stars slowly appeared beyond the tall windows, Hael leaned back in his chair and sighed contentedly.

"I should go away more often if this is how I get welcomed home."

Amber narrowed her eyes playfully. "Don’t you dare."

They both laughed, and Zola, hearing their joy, squealed in response—her laughter the loudest and most cherished sound of all.