Bound By Vows, Sealed In Love

Heat clung to every surface in the room, turning the air thick and stifling.

Caiden Wells' body heat kept burning against Iris Wells' skin.

"Is it that comfortable? Your voice is so alluring." He chuckled lazily into her ear, his voice rasping and languid. "Then... how about this?"

A startled gasp left her lips.

Iris snapped awake, her heart plummeting before it leaped up and hammered in her chest.

For a moment, confusion fogged her senses, until she realized the truth. None of it was real.

She'd been lost in a dream—a vivid one. Caiden's touch had felt so real, the memory of his closeness still burning across her skin as she blinked at the ceiling, breath ragged.

Several moments passed before she could pull herself together. Her hand reached for the space beside her. Only cold sheets met her touch.

Caiden, her husband, hadn't come home.

Sighing, Iris pushed hair from her eyes and slid out of bed to pour herself a glass of water.

Some uncomfortable sensation clung to her crotch. Annoyed, she rummaged for her underwear and a nightgown, and headed to the bathroom, needing to wash away the sticky feeling of longing.

Desire for sex didn't care about gender; Iris knew that as well as any man. She had grown used to regular intimacy ever since her wedding.

Back then, their nights stretched on until dawn, neither of them calling it quits until the early hours. That rhythm had ended abruptly after an incident, and Caiden had taken an assignment overseas, vanishing for nearly a year.

No wonder those memories had spilled into her dreams.

After changing into fresh clothes, Iris was about to hand wash her underwear, but the shrill ring of her phone shattered the quiet.

Late-night calls weren't unusual for a surgeon like her. However, when she answered, the voice that greeted her was unfamiliar—a man, calm but urgent.

"Is this Iris Wells?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Good evening, Mrs. Wells. This is Officer Grant from the Horizon Avenue precinct. Is Caiden Wells your husband? He was picked up at a bar tonight—drunk and tangled up in a fight. We'd appreciate it if you could come down to help sort things out."

The words left Iris speechless for a moment. Caiden was back? And already making trouble, enough to land himself in police custody.

Iris hesitated before answering, "Alright. I'll be there as soon as I can."

She wasted no time slipping into something presentable, grabbed her keys, and left the house behind.

The Horizon Avenue stretched through the heart of Slidrora's nightlife. Neon signs pulsed above packed sidewalks, music drifting through the sticky air. The drive from her quiet villa to the city's party strip felt endless. By the time Iris reached her destination, the clock was creeping toward four in the morning.

Everywhere she looked, bars jostled for space, the streets alive with late-night drama. Even this late, the police station thrummed with restless energy.

As soon as Iris pushed through the glass doors, she saw him—Caiden, planted on a battered white chair, alone in the crowded room.

Despite the chaotic and noisy environment, he was still the most eye-catching presence.

He appeared to be in his own world, untouched by the chaos around him, occupying a solitary space with no one nearby.

A year had passed since she'd last seen him, and her eyes swept over every familiar line. He seemed unchanged.

He wore a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled just enough, black slacks that fit perfectly, but he had left the tie and jacket behind. That expensive fabric draped over his tall frame as if custom-made for him.

Caiden sprawled in the chair, knees angled apart, his shirt left open at the throat so the curve of his Adam's apple and a slice of collarbone caught the light. Creases marked his slacks where he'd been sitting, black socks framing his ankles. There was a careless charm about him, the kind that made his whole look come off as lazy yet irresistibly attractive.

His chin tipped forward, as though the room spun a little too much. Eyes tinged with red, he seemed even more striking than she remembered.

Only in private moments had Iris ever seen that raw, magnetic side of him—the way his beauty sharpened when he was truly satisfied, wrapped up in her arms.

Tonight, everyone in the building got a front-row seat. Strangers passing by couldn't help but stare.

Just looking at him like this felt almost like a guilty pleasure.

The Wells blood ran in his veins—Slidrora's most prominent family, marked by wealth and legacy. Caiden had always stood out, blessed with looks and charm, always in command of any room he entered.

Most in this city knew better than to cross him. He existed in another league, distant and unreachable, like a star no one dared to touch. Why, then, had things gone so wrong that the police had locked him up with the rest?

At some point, maybe feeling eyes on him, Caiden lifted his gaze. His focus was hazy, as if unsure whether the face in front of him was real. Even so, the familiar softness lingered in his eyes—unchanged after all this time.

Iris kept her distance at first, choosing first to check in at the front desk. "Hello, I'm Iris Wells. Someone called about my husband and asked me to come."

A young officer walked over—he was clearly handling the case. Iris noticed the badge on his chest belonged to another precinct, which explained why he didn't seem to recognize the Wells name.

"You're here for Caiden Wells, correct? He was picked up for fighting at a bar. If you want the full picture, you can watch the security footage with me."

The officer tapped a few keys, pulling up the surveillance footage. The camera angle caught Caiden head-on, perfectly framing him in the bar's harsh lighting.

Even half-drunk and slouched at the bar, Caiden's striking features refused to be blurred by the garish lights—his posture careless, his looks impossible to ignore.

One hand in his pocket, phone in the other, he seemed completely unbothered by his surroundings. Suddenly, a hot woman hurried over and wrapped her arms around his waist.

The sight caught Iris off guard.

She watched as the woman rose on tiptoe, whispered in Caiden's ear, and drew a lazy smile from him. The gold-rimmed glasses on his face gave him a mischievous edge she'd never seen in public before.

Fingers tightening around her car keys, Iris barely noticed the sting of metal digging into her skin.

The surveillance footage rolled on. A group spilled out of the elevator. Their words blurred by static, but body language told the story. Caiden took off his glasses, slipped them into his pocket, and suddenly, the mood shifted.

In the blink of an eye, fists started flying.

Caiden moved with the grace of someone who'd been trained for this. Iris knew the Wells family had insisted on the best instructors since he was a boy, and it showed. His fighting wasn't just brawn—it was skill, every movement calculated and efficient.

Security stormed in, breaking up the chaos and calling the police.

It was all crystal clear—no mystery about who'd thrown the first punch, or why.

But the image Iris couldn't shake was that woman's arms circling Caiden's waist.

She glanced from Caiden, unsteady in his chair, to the battered crowd he'd faced. Among them were two young women. Once they realized she was Caiden's wife, they looked at her with a hint of sympathy.

Having a husband suspected of infidelity was bad enough, but being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night to untangle a bar fight was its own brand of humiliation.

"Ma'am, we didn't mean any harm. My friend joked that my belly looked flat tonight, though it was bigger before. She was hinting maybe I'd been secretly pregnant and lost it. Your husband must've thought we were talking about the woman with him. That's when things exploded," explained one of the two women.

The phrase about losing a baby landed cold in Iris' chest. Her hand drifted unconsciously to her stomach, her thoughts spinning.

She finally understood why Caiden, always so composed and proper, had lost control and thrown himself into a brawl.