Liam slipped from the bed, careful not to disturb Isabella's sleep. The marble floor was cold against his feet as he pulled on his trousers and made his way to her kitchen.
'Know her routine better than my own now,' he thought, reaching for her favorite tea. 'Earl Grey, loose leaf, imported from that pretentious shop in Mayfair.'
He moved with practiced ease through her pristine kitchen. The space smelled of fresh bread and vanilla from yesterday's baking. Maria wouldn't be by for hours yet—she ran the household with military precision, never arriving before nine.
'Woman runs this place like a fortress,' he mused, measuring the loose leaves with careful attention. 'Just a splash of milk, no sugar—because God forbid anything in Isabella Ashworth's life be sweet.'
The kettle's whistle pierced the morning quiet just as his phone vibrated.
Christina: "All clear this morning. Doing perimeter check at 8:30."