Chapter 107: The Strategy of Distraction
She was warm against me, curled into my side like she’d been built to fit there. My arm rested around her shoulders, hand absently brushing through her hair. The quiet stretched, but it wasn’t the kind of silence that demanded filling—it just sat there, soft and steady, like breathing.
I could’ve stayed like that for hours.
But responsibility had to ruin it.
"Val," I said after a while, low enough that it almost sounded like a sigh.
"Yeah?" she murmured, not moving.
I hesitated for a second, then went for it. "Since we didn’t go to school today, we should probably study."
She groaned immediately, long and dramatic, and shoved her face deeper into my shirt like that would block the words out. "Nooo."
I tried again, firmer. "Val."
Her reply came in a babyish whine, deliberately exaggerated. "I wanna stay like this."
I hadn’t expected that. A smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it.
She peeked up at me just in time to catch it, grinning like she’d just won a war. "Good. You’re not mad anymore."
"Who says I’m not?" I shot back, arching a brow.
"Your face does," she said with ridiculous confidence. "It gave you away."
I exhaled, half amused, half resigned. "Guess I’ll have to work on that, then."
"Don’t." Her grin softened into something fonder. "I like it better when I can read you."
I snorted. "You mean you like having the upper hand."
"Mm, maybe." She leaned up, pressed a quick kiss to my lips, and settled back down like she’d just proven a point. Then, as casually as if she were asking about the weather, she added, "Okay fine. But before we study, we should do something first."
I eyed her suspiciously. "Something?"
She nodded with the kind of serious expression that already had me worried.
"We’re supposed to be making up for missing class, not finding new ways to waste time."
"It’s not wasting time," she said, sitting up straighter, eyes gleaming like trouble was loading. "It’s... team-building."
"Val."
"Pleaseee," she dragged out, full whiny tone this time. "Please, please, please"
I gave her my best flat look. "Define ’something’ before I regret even asking."
Her grin widened instantly. "Simple. We have a speed-cleaning race."
I blinked. "...A what?"
"Speed. Cleaning. Race," she repeated, nodding like this was perfectly normal. "Your apartment’s a mess—"
"It’s not a mess."
"Fine, fine. It’s... lived in." She smirked. "We each take a room, set a timer, and see who can finish faster. Winner gets to decide what we’ll do after."
I raised a brow. "Uh-huh. And let me guess—if you win, you’ll pick ’no studying’ as the grand prize."
Her eyes sparkled with fake innocence. "What? Me? I’d never."
"Val."
She pressed her lips together, like she was trying not to laugh. "Okay, maybe. But only because it’s a very tempting option."
I just stared at her. "...That’s your idea of fun?"
Her eyes gleamed like I’d just challenged her honor. "Obviously. What’s life without a little competition, husband?"
I pinched the bridge of my nose, sighed. "Val, we need to study, not... play maid wars."
"Come on," she whined, drawing the words out like a kid begging for candy. "Just one round. It’ll be fun."
I shook my head. "Fun for you maybe. I’m not falling for it."
Her smirk only deepened. "Unless... you’re scared you’ll lose."
I blinked at her. "Scared?"
She leaned closer, eyes wide with mock innocence. "It’s fine, Kai. Not everyone can keep up with me."
I gave her a flat look. "I’m not scared I’ll lose."
> "Then prove it."
"Not happening."
She crossed her arms, tilting her head with mock pity. "Wow. My husband’s scared of losing."
I let out a dry laugh. "Reverse psychology’s not gonna work on me."
"Uh-huh." She smirked like she’d already won.
I groaned. "You’re impossible."
"And you’re stalling," she said simply, like it was the most obvious fact in the world.
I stared at that smug little expression for a beat too long, then groaned. "...Ugh, fine. You’re on."
Her grin was immediate, bright and smug, like she’d already won.
And me? I couldn’t tell what she was aiming for with this—if it was just distraction, or if there was something else buried under her chaos. But then again, it wasn’t the first time Val tossed out something completely out of the box and dragged me right along with it.
---
"So," I said finally, leaning back on the couch and eyeing her across the room, "where exactly are you cleaning in this little war game of yours?"
Val tapped a finger against her chin like she needed to think hard about it. "Hmm... kitchen."
I raised a brow. "Kitchen? Really? You’re volunteering for the hardest one right out of the gate?"
Her shoulders squared like I’d just insulted her honor. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
"It means," I said, smirking a little, "that halfway through scrubbing pans and stacking dishes, you’re gonna regret every word you just said."
"I will not," she fired back instantly.
"Yes, you will."
Her eyes narrowed in dramatic defiance. "Fine. I’ll take the kitchen. And when I win, I’ll enjoy every second of choosing what we do next."
I raised a brow. "That’s a handicap. You’ll get lost alphabetizing spices."
Her gasp was scandalized. "Excuse you—I run the kitchen like a general runs an army."
"Exactly my point. You’ll spend twenty minutes arranging the pepper jars by height."
Her mouth fell open like I’d accused her of treason. "...That’s called precision, husband."
"You’re incorrigible." I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"Compliments get you nowhere," she said breezily, waving me off. Then she pointed toward the couch. "That makes the living room yours."
I glanced around the room—the couch buried under throw blankets, a coffee table covered in stray wrappers and water bottles, a couple of books half-tucked beneath the leg of a chair. "Yeah, sure. Definitely the easier battlefield."
"See?" she said, pleased with herself. "Fair game."
"Fair?" I scoffed. "You just volunteered for the kitchen, which looks like a war zone, and you think that’s fair?"
She smiled sweetly, which was somehow more threatening than if she’d scowled. "Don’t worry, Kai. I like a challenge."
I exhaled slowly, pulling my phone from my pocket. "Alright, fine. Timer. How long?"
She thought for a second, tilting her head. "Hmm... twenty minutes."
I blinked. "Twenty?"
"Yeah. Five minutes is nothing. Ten would just make it a sprint. Twenty’s enough to really test our skill."
"You’re ridiculous."
"Ridiculously competitive," she corrected, plucking my phone from my hand. She set the timer herself, all dramatic, then handed it back like it was the sacred scroll of battle.
I stared at her for a beat. "...You’re taking this way too seriously."
"Deadly seriously." She adjusted her shirt like she was suiting up for combat.
"Fine," I muttered, trying not to smile.
Her grin widened. "On your mark..."
I sighed. "Val—"
> "Get set—"
"...I regret this already."
"Go!" she shouted, already bolting into the kitchen.
---
Chaos. Instant chaos.
I dove for the stack of books and notebooks by the couch, scooping them up and shoving them onto the shelf. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Val charging into the kitchen like a soldier storming enemy lines. Cabinet doors slammed, pots clanged, and I could’ve sworn I heard her mutter something that sounded suspiciously like a war cry.
"Don’t break anything in there," I called.
"Focus on your own battlefield!" she shot back, muffled by the clatter of pans.
I smirked, tossing a hoodie over the chair and grabbing empty cups from the coffee table. The timer on my phone ticked down with brutal honesty, and I found myself working faster than I’d expected. Trash in the bin, wrappers gone, remote back where it belonged.
By the halfway mark, the living room looked halfway decent. Not pristine, but better than I’d seen it in weeks. I dusted off my hands, glanced at the timer—seven minutes left—and allowed myself a smug little smile.
That smile evaporated when Val’s voice rang out.
> "Done!"
I froze. "...Already?"
She appeared in the doorway, cheeks flushed, hair escaping her bun, but with a triumphant sparkle in her eyes. "Kitchen’s spotless."
"That’s impossible."
"Go look," she said, crossing her arms with a confidence that almost unnerved me.
Suspicious, I walked toward the kitchen. I braced myself for the usual battlefield—plates stacked, crumbs on the counter, maybe a dirty mug or two. Instead...
It was clean. Counters wiped. Sink empty. Dishes stacked neatly to dry. Not perfect, but shockingly presentable.
I turned slowly to her. "Did you... shove everything into a cabinet?"
Her gasp was immediate, scandalous. "How dare you."
"Val." I pointed at the nearest cupboard.
Her grin flickered, just for a second. "...Don’t open that."
I reached for it anyway.
She darted forward, blocking me with her whole body. "Nope. Rules of the game. You can’t sabotage me."
I gave her a long, skeptical look. "So you did shove it all in there."
"It’s called strategy," she said, puffing her chest out proudly. "And last I checked, strategy is fair."
I raised a brow. Then, with one hand, nudged her aside and pulled the cabinet open anyway.
She yelped in protest.
Inside... everything was neatly arranged. Plates stacked by size, cups lined in order, even the spice jars straightened into a tidy little row.
"Oh." I blinked. "...I... guess you actually won."
Her grin returned, smug and victorious. "Told ya."
I scratched the back of my head, suddenly awkward. "Alright. You win. So... what do you want to do?"
She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with mischief. For a moment, my stomach sank. I could already picture her choosing something outrageous. Karaoke in the middle of the day. Dragging me outside to race around the block. Painting my face like a clown. With Val, it was always a coin toss between mild chaos and utter disaster.
"I want to..." she dragged the words out, eyes sparkling, "...study."
I stared at her, thrown. "...Wait. What?"
She smiled, all innocence. "Study. You know, like we planned before we got sidetracked."
My eyes went wide. That was the last thing I expected. "You’re joking."
"What?" she asked sweetly, already brushing past me to grab her bag. "Don’t look so shocked."
"Because you just—" I waved a hand toward the kitchen and living room, both visibly neater than before. "We just spent twenty minutes waging war over cleaning, and this was the grand plan?"
She plopped her bag on the table and flipped open a textbook, still smiling. "The place was dirty."
"It wasn’t—" I stopped, looking around again. My apartment actually looked... livable now. Cleaner. Lighter, somehow. "...Fine. It was."
She smirked, flipping a page.
I shook my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. "You really are something else."
Her grin softened, and she patted the chair beside her. "Come on, husband. Let’s make use of this clean space."
So we did. Books spread across the table, pencils clicking, the timer on my phone forgotten.
But as I watched her bend over her notes, hair falling into her face, her lips pursed in concentration, I couldn’t shake the thought:
But as I watched her bend over her notes, hair falling into her face, lips pursed in concentration, one thought lingered at the edges of my mind:
She’d distracted me. Dragged me into cleaning, made me play her ridiculous game, turned everything into a joke until I wasn’t sulking over Lucien anymore.
I told myself it was just Val being Val—chaotic, unpredictable, exhausting. What I didn’t realize then was that maybe, just maybe, she’d done it on purpose.
And the worst-best part?
It worked.
---
To be continued...