The Accidental Son-in-law Is A Genius

Module 7 - SHE STILL CARES

Clarke stepped into the quiet house just as the faint glow of dawn began peeking over the horizon. It was 3 a.m., and the stillness of the house was broken only by the soft shuffle of his footsteps.

He quietly pushed open the door to the bedroom, expecting his wife to be asleep, but Winifred was sitting upright with glasses perched on her nose and surrounded by papers.

She looked up as he entered. Her sharp eyes narrowed. “Why are you just coming back now?” she asked, her tone biting. “It took you long enough. And why bother coming back at dawn? Why not wait until morning?”

Clarke paused, his hand lingering on the doorframe. Before he could answer, she continued, whining. “Should I also be your mother added to being your wife? Am I supposed to be teaching you about security? You’re a grown man, but you act like a baby. Do I have to worry about you every time you step out?”

Clarke smiled faintly. Her words were more teasing than truly angry. He didn’t respond right away, instead shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the chair. He lay back on the bed, watching her intently with a small grin playing on his lips.

“What’s with that look?” she demanded, glancing up from her papers.

“Nothing,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s just…you care.”

She clicked her tongue in irritation and turned her gaze back to her papers, pretending to ignore him.

Clarke, still smiling, shifted onto his side and rested his head on one hand. “And why aren’t you sleeping?”

Winifred’s fingers hesitated on the stack of papers, but she didn’t look at him. “I have to sort some things out,” she replied curtly, pushing her glasses up her nose.

He tilted his head, observing her for a moment before standing and moving behind her chair. She stiffened slightly as his hands settled on her shoulders. But he began massaging gently, his thumbs working into the knots of tension in her muscles.

“What are you doing?”

“Just helping you relax,” Clarke replied lightly. “Looks like you’ve had a long night too.”

Winifred let out a small sigh, her shoulders loosening under his touch. After a moment of silence, she spoke, her voice softer than before. “There’s actually an issue at the studio.”

“With the scripts?” Clarke asked, his hands pausing briefly. “Or something else?”

She turned her head slightly, her brows furrowing as she looked at him. “What?” she said. “Why are you even asking? You’re just a driver. What would you know about the corporate world? About modeling and entertainment?”

Clarke chuckled, his hands resuming their rhythmic movement. “I might surprise you,” he said with a smirk. “Drivers see and hear a lot more than you think.”

Winifred rolled her eyes but didn’t push him away. For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the tension of the day easing between them.

—

Winifred leaned back slightly, allowing Clarke to continue his impromptu massage. Her lips pressed into a thin line as if debating whether to say more.

“You know,” Clarke began, breaking the silence, “if you keep overworking like this, you’ll burn out. Maybe it’s time to delegate some of those studio responsibilities to someone else.”

She let out a dry laugh. “Delegate? And risk everything falling apart? The only thing worse than my workload is trusting someone else to handle it. No thanks.”

Clarke smirked. “Control freak much?”

She turned her head to glare at him, but the corners of her mouth betrayed a slight smile. “I’d rather be a control freak than let some rookie ruin months of hard work. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” he challenged. His hands still worked over her shoulders. “You’d be surprised what I can wrap my head around.”

Winifred shook her head, chuckling softly. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” She adjusted her glasses and glanced at the papers spread before her. “Fine. There’s some drama with the investors; they’re unhappy with the budget for our latest project. Apparently, ‘vision’ doesn’t matter if it costs too much.”

Clarke nodded thoughtfully, his hands slowing as he listened. “That’s tough. But haven’t they seen the numbers from your previous projects? You’ve got a track record of success.”

Winifred sighed, rubbing her temple. “You’d think that would be enough, but no. They’re all about minimizing risk and maximizing profit. They don’t care about creativity or quality.”

“Sounds like they need a wake-up call. Remind them that you’re the reason this studio is even worth investing in.”

Winifred glanced at him. Her expression softened for a moment. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not simple,” Clarke admitted. Hello stepped back and leaned against the desk beside her. “But you’re not one to back down from a fight, are you?”

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “No, I’m not. Which is why I’ll sort this out myself. You don’t need to worry about it.”

Clarke raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough. But if you ever need a second opinion.. or just someone to vent to… you know where to find me.”

Winifred smirked, her gaze returning to the papers. “In my bedroom? Noted. Now, go get some rest. You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said dryly, pushing off the desk. As he walked toward the bed, he added, “Don’t stay up too late. You’ll need your energy to deal with those investors.”

“Goodnight, Clarke,” she said, her voice tinged with a rare warmth.

“Goodnight, Winifred,” he replied, pulling the blanket over himself. As he lay there, he couldn’t help but smile. Despite her sharp tongue and tough exterior, she cared, more than she’d ever admit.

And for now, that was enough.