Contract Marriage with My Secret Partner in Crime
Chapter 115: Restricted Logs

Chapter 115: Restricted Logs

[120 Days Left to Live]

Kendrick stared at the last page of the thick folder Sophia had given him, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. The papers had been a chaotic mess of scribbled notes, incomplete tables, and faded graphs. Most were handwritten, but the penmanship was terrible, barely more legible than a doctor’s rushed prescription.

At first, he thought he was just too tired to make sense of it, but the more he read, the more confused he became.

Was this even related to Barmon?

The documents talked about trial phases, dosages, reactions, and chemical structures. There were references to a subject zero, fluctuations in white blood cells, and something about auto-immune deterioration.

If Kendrick didn’t know better, he would have assumed these files came from a medical research facility, not something remotely tied to a field investigation.

What’s more, they’re dated 25 years ago, around the time he was about to be born. But what he needs is a clue about what happened 12 years ago.

"Is this even the right file?" he muttered, tossing the last paper onto the desk with a heavy sigh.

He pushed himself up, knees cracking as he stood. His neck ached from hunching over for hours. A whole week. He had dedicated every spare minute of the past seven days trying to make sense of these logs. And now he was left with more questions than answers.

Maybe Sophia made a mistake. Or maybe... Cassius switched them. That thought had been creeping in since day two. Cassius might have anticipated Sophia handing over something sensitive. Maybe he planted this mess as a diversion.

Or maybe this wasn’t a mistake at all.

What if the illness in the notes... what if that illness was personal? Someone they both knew? Someone Cassius needed a cure for? Maybe Barmon was the key to it. But even if that were true, Kendrick didn’t understand how this tied back to his father. Or to the case.

He dragged his feet back to his room, blinking slowly. His body felt heavy. The soft hum of electronics faded behind him as the high-tech room sealed shut. Inside his bedroom, darkness wrapped around him. The bed welcomed him like an old friend.

He didn’t bother changing clothes. He simply dropped onto the bed, face half-buried in the pillow. A quick glance at his phone made him groan.

3:02 AM.

Only two hours until his alarm rang at five. He had set it weeks ago to make sure he woke up in time to prepare breakfast for Zephany. It had become part of their unspoken routine.

Ever since that incident at the hospital, he couldn’t bear to see her push herself to exhaustion again. He’d made a promise to himself, quietly, that he’d look after her in the smallest ways he could.

Cooking was his language. His way of saying, "I’m here."

But tonight, his body had reached its limit.

He drifted off before he could think any further.

---

The sharp, repetitive buzz of Kendrick’s alarm rang at 5:00 AM. The sound echoed across his room like a drill. But Kendrick didn’t stir.

The weight of sleepless nights had finally caught up with him. His body, drained and aching, ignored the alarm’s persistence. The device continued to buzz for a full minute before shutting off automatically, its job unfulfilled.

Across the apartment, Zephany’s eyes blinked open. She lay still for a moment, listening.

Silence. No footsteps. No clatter of pans in the kitchen. No smell of breakfast.

She sat up slowly, her blanket pooling around her waist. A soft smile formed on her lips.

"Finally," she whispered to herself. "He’s still asleep."

She had noticed it days ago. The fatigue in his eyes, the way he moved slower, the way he stared into space longer than usual. She wasn’t blind. He looked like someone carrying something heavy, and no matter how light he tried to act around her, his exhaustion had started to show.

Every morning, without fail, she would wake up to warm food and Kendrick already dressed, pretending he had just gotten up. She knew he was lying. He was the kind who cared quietly, without words, through action.

But today, she wanted to return the favor.

She slid out of bed, her bare feet touching the cold floor. Grabbing her robe, she tied it loosely around her waist and padded toward the kitchen.

The hallway felt different without the usual morning hum of activity. A strange calmness blanketed the apartment. As she neared the kitchen, she took a deep breath.

No Kendrick.

She allowed herself a small victorious grin.

"Looks like I beat you this time," she murmured.

The kitchen felt bigger without him moving around in it. She stepped in and looked around. The countertop was clean, pans neatly stacked, ingredients arranged just the way Kendrick always left them. He was meticulous like that.

Zephany reached for the pan and set it on the stove. She remembered the way he cracked eggs with one hand, how he always reminded her to let the garlic sizzle a bit before adding anything else. She wanted to do it right.

Because even if she didn’t say it out loud, she noticed the little things. The way Kendrick peeled shrimp for her without being asked. How he always asked if she was okay but made it sound like a casual tease. The way he said "wife" as if they had been one for years, and how it made her heart jump no matter how many times she heard it.

She shook her head quickly.

"Stop it. Just focus on cooking," she muttered.

Still smiling, she turned on the stove and got to work, determined to surprise him the way he always surprised her. For once, she would be the one to care quietly.

She looked around the kitchen once more, her hands resting on the counter as the pan heated up. This was the place he turned into something more than just a space to cook. It had become warm. Familiar. And she was proud to be part of it.

Zephany brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and exhaled softly.

"Alright. Let’s see if I learned anything from you, Kendrick."

And with that, she reached for the eggs and smiled.

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