Scented Claudia

I woke up feeling surprisingly rested, which was ironic considering i'd spent half the night checking on Raphael, making sure he actually slept.

Work was calling.

No time to laze around.

I had meetings to attend, papers to sign, staff to oversee, and Samuel to keep from turning the business into a circus.

I splashed my face with cold water and stepped out of my room, stretching lazily.

That's when i noticed it.

A plate on the dining table. Carefully covered.

I blinked.

Walking over, I lifted the cover slowly.

Fluffy scrambled eggs, perfectly crisp bacon, garlic rice still warm. Slices of fresh mango fanned out like he was trying too hard. And beside it a steaming cup of coffee.

A sticky note was propped up by the mug.

Thanks. Slept well. Off to work. Eat this.

My lips twitched.

So he really did this.

I sat down quietly, pulling the plate closer, letting the warm steam hit my face.

It felt... nice.

Domestic, almost.

Ridiculous, considering everything between us was supposed to be fake.

But for the moment, I allowed myself to enjoy it.

-

After cleaning up, I changed into work clothes and grabbed my bag.

Before heading to the office, I made a detour to the bookstore.

Samuel had been whining about how hard business training was, and i was determined to make it even worse for him.

I needed solid reading material.

I scanned the shelves, collecting titles about marketing and operations.

Then my gaze snagged on some unexpected options:

"Making Love: A Guide to Passion & Intimacy"

"How to Become a Better Mom"

"Guidance for Having a Baby"

I blinked at them, half horrified.

Who the hell put these all in one section?

I picked up the intimacy guide, flipping it open.

Illustrations. Diagrams. Techniques i was definitely not ready to study.

I snorted.

It looked less like a romance book and more like a combat manual.

I couldn't resist.

I grabbed it.

For research.

Obviously.

The baby book went in the basket too.

Because why not?

If Raphael ever saw these purchases, i'd just lie and say they were gifts.

-

By the time i got to the company, Samuel was sulking in the lobby like he'd been sentenced to death.

"Let's go," I told him, not even slowing down.

He trailed behind, muttering, "Can't i just watch YouTube tutorials?"

I shot him a glare.

"This is not aTikTok business, Samuel. Read that"

I dropped the stack of books in his arms.

He made a noise like i'd just handed him a sack of rocks.

"Ugh," he groaned. "Seriously?"

"Yes," I said sweetly. "And Vanessa's giving you the full tour. Ask questions. Learn something."

He slumped in defeat, shuffling off.

I tried not to grin too hard.

-

Back in my office, I was buried in paperwork. Contracts to sign. Suppliers to haggle with. Payroll to approve.

But in between, my mind wandered.

Raphael, in my kitchen, cooking breakfast.

That stupid sticky note.

The quiet thank-you.

I exhaled, annoyed at myself.

It wasn't real.

It wasn't anything.

I pulled out one of the books I'd bought—Making Love: A Guide to Passion & Intimacy.

I flipped a page.

Stopped.

Then burst out laughing.

Nope. Not today.

Meetings. Calls. More training for Samuel.

By late afternoon, I decided to pick Raphael up from the hospital.

He hadn't brought a car, and despite everything, it felt natural to go get him.

When i got there, I headed straight to his office.

He was standing with a group of colleagues, laughing at something they said.

My eyes drifted to his left hand.

No wedding ring.

Huh.

Interesting.

I schooled my expression before walking over.

"Hi," I said casually.

They greeted me politely. Raphael's gaze flicked over, tired but amused.

"Can we go home?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Wala pa yung isang doctor. Marami pang patients. I'll be a while."

"Oh."

I tried to keep my face neutral.

"Okay. See you at home."

And i left.

Back at my condo, I felt weirdly deflated.

Was it the work?

Or something else?

I didn't bother dissecting it.

Instead, I ran a bath, dumped in half a bottle of lavender oil, and let the warm water drag my mood out of me.

Glass of wine in hand, I leaned back and exhaled.

The book i'd mocked earlier sat on the edge of the tub.

I picked it up.

Flipped through a few pages.

Closed it again immediately.

What was i thinking?

Like i'd actually use any of that on Raphael.

I snorted into my wine.

As if.

-

The next morning, I padded over to the guest room first thing.

Empty.

No sign he'd even come home last night.

I tried to ignore the small, sharp sting in my chest.

I sat on the couch, pulling my knees up.

He made me breakfast one day and then disappeared the next.

That was fine.

That was what this was supposed to be.

I distracted myself with work emails on my phone, absently chewing on a pen.

I almost didn't hear the door open.

I jumped, tossing the pen away.

Raphael stepped in, hair messy, jacket slung over his arm.

Exhaustion clung to him like a second skin.

"You just got home?" I asked.

He just nodded, dropping his bag by the door.

I noticed his hand.

He was wearing the ring.

My chest tightened.

God, I hated how inconsistent this felt.

He walked past me into the kitchen.

"Go to bed," I called after him.

He didn't answer. Instead, he started pulling out pans and ingredients.

"Raphael," I said more sharply. "Sleep. I'll order food."

He shook his head stubbornly.

"You need to eat something decent."

I scowled, leaning on the counter.

"You're going to collapse."

He didn't even glance back at me.

"I'm fine."

He moved with steady precision, chopping vegetables, frying garlic, heating broth.

I watched in silence, teeth digging into my lip.

His eyes were red. His shoulders drooped.

But he still cooked.

For me.

He finally set a bowl of chicken soup in front of me.

I picked up the spoon, blowing on it.

Took a sip.

Warm. Comforting.

Felt like home.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

He just grunted and sat across from me, rubbing his temples.

We ate in silence.

I wanted to say something.

Ask why he wore the ring here but not at work.

Ask if this felt real to him too.

But i didn't.

Because it wasn't my place.

Because it was easier not to know.

When we were done, he pushed back from the table.

"Shower. Then bed."

"Which one?" I asked, my voice careful.

He didn't answer.

Just disappeared into the guest room.

I stayed at the table for a while, listening to the sound of running water.

My fingers twisted the wedding ring on my own hand.

Fake.

That was the deal.

I got up and cleaned the dishes in silence.

I peeked into the guest room when he was done.

He was lying there, hair damp, already half-asleep.

"Rest," I whispered.

He cracked an eye open.

"You're watching me again?"

I shrugged, leaning against the door.

"Someone has to."

He let out a tired laugh.

And fell asleep.

I stayed there for a while longer.

Because i wanted to.

Because i didn't know what else to do.

Because no matter how fake this was supposed to be, there was nothing fake about the way he made me feel.