Chapter 110 Morning Before the Storm

Chapter 110 Morning Before the Storm
Aleli’s POV

THE FIRST thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was the quiet. It wasn’t the uneasy kind that usually settled over my thoughts, but a peaceful silence that wrapped around the hotel room like a warm blanket. For several long seconds, I simply lay there, listening to the faint patter of rain against the window and the steady hum of the air conditioner.
It took me a moment to recall how I got here—the dinner, the walk through the city, and finally, Kristoff.
I slowly turned my head toward the other bed. He was still asleep. The blanket had slipped down to his waist, and his dark hair was a messy contrast to the perfectly styled look he carried every day at school. Without his usual composed expression, he looked younger. Softer. Almost ordinary.
A smile found its way onto my lips. It was strange how different he looked when he wasn't trying to carry the weight of everyone around him. No guarded eyes, no rigid posture, no overwhelming responsibility. Just Kristoff.
My chest tightened with a mix of gratitude and affection. He had done so much for me that I sometimes forgot he was only eighteen. He wasn't supposed to be worrying about erased records, hidden witnesses, anonymous threats, or whether I would make it home safely every night. He was supposed to be worrying about exams, football matches, and his own future. Instead, he was carrying mine.
Slipping quietly out of bed, I walked to the window. Outside, the rain had eased into a light drizzle, and the city below was waking up in an orderly, normal routine. For once, I wasn't thinking about Uncle Jerry, Debbie, Aunt Grace, or the missing files. It felt as though the world had decided to give me one morning without demanding anything in return.
“You're staring outside like you're planning to escape,” a sleepy voice broke the silence.
I turned around to find Kristoff blinking at me, his hair even messier than before. A laugh slipped out before I could stop it.
“What?” He frowned slightly, running a hand through the chaos on his head. “Why are you laughing?”
“You don't look like Kristoff Ricafort,” I replied, trying to hold back another chuckle. “You look like someone who lost a fight with his pillow.”
He reached for the mirror beside the bed, glanced at his reflection, and sighed dramatically. “I can't believe you chose violence this early in the morning.”
“I didn't choose anything,” I smiled. “Your hair did.”
He narrowed his eyes before letting out a quiet chuckle, sitting up to stretch. “You're enjoying this too much.”
“I really am. You yawn,” I added, pretending to sound shocked. “I was beginning to think you weren't human.”
“I am, unfortunately, human,” he said with an amused look.
The ease of my own laughter felt unfamiliar—not because I had forgotten how, but because it came so naturally. Kristoff looked at me for a long moment, his gaze softening.
“What?” I asked.
“You're smiling. A real one. I like seeing it.”
The sincerity in his voice made my heart skip. I quickly looked away, feeling the warmth rise to my cheeks. “You're making this awkward. I thought honesty was yesterday's theme.”
“It was. So why stop now?” He smiled, swinging his legs over the bed and grabbing his phone. “I'll order breakfast.”
“You don't have to,” I said, but as he glanced toward the small kitchenette in the corner, a thoughtful expression crossed his face. He slowly lowered his phone.
“Actually, I have a better idea,” he said, walking confidently toward the counter. “I can cook.”
I folded my arms, staring at him. “You can? When was the last time you actually cooked, Ricafort?”
He looked at the ceiling, searching his memory. “I... remember supervising. That's not important. Look, we have bread and eggs. You're about to witness greatness.”
“I think I'm about to witness a disaster,” I teased as he rolled up his sleeves and placed a pan on the stove.
I obediently sat at the small dining table, watching him crack the first egg. The shell promptly slipped from his fingers, half of it landing neatly in the bowl, the other half joining it. He carefully picked it out with a fork, pretending nothing had happened.
“I saw that,” I said, grinning.
“You saw nothing,” he countered over his shoulder. “If you keep commenting, I'll make you cook instead.”
“Oh, no. This is far more entertaining. I knew I shouldn't have tried to impress you.”
“You're trying to impress me?” I asked, the teasing tone leaving my voice.
He paused. Then, without turning around, he admitted quietly, “I've been trying to impress you since the day we met.”
The room fell quiet. Kristoff cleared his throat, suddenly awkward, and turned his focus back to the frying pan. “Well... now I really have to make these eggs edible.”
I rested my chin on my hand, watching Kristoff move around the tiny kitchenette with an admirable—if misplaced—determination. The eggs eventually made it into the pan, but judging from the fierce sizzling and his bewildered expression, they weren't cooperating.
He poked at them with a spatula, frowning. "They're sticking."
"Did you put oil in the pan?" I asked, trying to sound helpful.
Kristoff froze. He slowly looked at the unopened bottle of cooking oil sitting right beside the stove. "...That would've been useful."
Laughter burst out of me so suddenly that I doubled over in my chair, clutching my stomach.
"You're enjoying this far too much," he said, looking both offended and embarrassed.
"I really am," I admitted.
He shook his head with exaggerated disappointment. "I pour my heart into making breakfast, and this is the appreciation I get."
"You forgot the oil."
"It was a strategic oversight. Experimental cooking."
He eventually surrendered with a dramatic sigh, scraping the remains onto two plates. He placed them on the table beside a stack of toast that was just a little darker than it should have been, along with remarkably strong coffee.
"There," he announced proudly. "Breakfast."
I looked down at the unevenly cooked eggs and nearly burnt toast. "It looks... memorable."
He narrowed his eyes. "Choose your next sentence carefully."
Smiling, I picked up my fork and took a cautious bite. Surprisingly, it was edible. My eyebrows lifted. "This is actually better than I expected."
His face immediately brightened. "I knew it."
"I had very low expectations," I teased.
He laughed, the sound filling the quiet room. "I'll take that as a victory."
We ate without rushing, trading easy jokes. It felt so normal that it almost hurt. I couldn't remember the last time I'd shared a meal without feeling watched or judged. No whispers, no rumors, no questions. Just breakfast.
When we finished, Kristoff reached for the plates. "I'll wash these."
"You cooked," I protested, standing up. "Let me."
"I also made the mess. Besides, you have very little faith in me."
"I watched you lose to scrambled eggs," I reminded him.
We ended up washing the dishes together anyway. The kitchenette was far too small for two people, causing us to constantly bump elbows. At one point, he accidentally splashed water onto my sleeve. When I glared at him, he raised his hands innocently.
"The sink attacked you," he claimed. "It has poor aim."
I laughed and flicked a few drops back at him. His eyes widened. "Did you just declare war?"
For the next minute, the kitchen became a battlefield of harmless splashes and childish laughter until we both stopped, catching our breath. Kristoff looked at me, his smile so open that the burdens we'd been carrying momentarily vanished.
"I like this version of you," he said quietly, handing me a towel. "The one that laughs without looking over her shoulder. This morning... it feels like you're finally breathing."
I lowered my eyes, my voice growing soft. "I think I am."
After checking out of the hotel, we stepped outside into the fresh, post-rain air. The morning sun was finally breaking through the clouds.
"We still have time before class," Kristoff said, checking his watch. "Walk with me?"
We wandered through the quiet streets, eventually passing a small bakery. The sweet scent of freshly baked bread drifted out, and I unconsciously slowed my pace. Kristoff noticed immediately.
Before I could protest, he ducked inside and returned with a small paper bag containing a warm cinnamon roll.
"You didn't have to," I murmured, peeking inside.
"I notice everything about you," he said gently. "I've been watching you for years."
My heart skipped, knowing he wasn't exaggerating after everything he'd confessed the night before.
We walked to a small park overlooking the river and sat on a dry bench beneath a large acacia tree. The breeze carried the scent of wet grass, and the world felt incredibly peaceful.
"I wish life could stay this small," I whispered, watching a little girl chase pigeons nearby. "No investigations. No missing files. No people trying to hurt us. Just... breakfast that tasted almost edible."
He laughed quietly. "I never realized how precious ordinary mornings could be," I added, my smile fading.
Kristoff reached over, gently intertwining his fingers with mine. "If I could choose one future, it would look exactly like this. I'll never regret choosing a day that made you smile."
With stinging eyes, I leaned my head against his shoulder. We sat in silence, listening to the city come alive, completely unaware of the black SUV parked across the street.
Inside the vehicle, a man lowered his camera and reviewed the photographs on his screen—our departure from the hotel, the bakery, and finally, our intertwined hands on the bench. He forwarded the images to an unnamed contact.
A reply came instantly: Good. Keep following them.
The SUV's engine started quietly, blending into the morning traffic. We remained on the bench, blissfully ignorant that our last peaceful morning had already become someone else's weapon.