He just nodded and walked into the living room.
Kiana set the vase on the windowsill and wiped her damp hands on a dish towel.
Something was brewing. She felt it in her skin, her nerves, that ancient female instinct that never lied.
By evening, Darius started asking questions.
They were sitting in the small eat-in kitchen. She was warming up leftover dinner while he scrolled mindlessly on his phone.
Suddenly, without looking up from the screen, he said casually, “Hey, how much have you saved up for the renovation?”
Kiana froze with the ladle suspended in her hand.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. You wanted to redo the kitchen, right? Do you have enough money for it?”
She slowly ladled soup into their bowls, taking her time.
“Yes. I have enough.”
“You sure? Maybe it’s better to save a little more. Don’t rush into it.”
Kiana sat down across from him and picked up her spoon.
“Darius, I’ve been saving for three years. I have enough.”
He nodded, but it was clear her answer didn’t satisfy him. He’d been expecting something else—numbers, maybe, specifics about her account balance.
“And how much is there in total?” he asked, trying to sound casual. “You know, in the account?”
She looked him straight in the eyes without blinking.
“Enough.”
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