The Billionaire's Brat Wants Me-Chapter 236: A Date We Owed Ourselves

The sky was a soft, washed-out blue when we pulled into the aquarium parking lot. The kind of color that made the day feel slower than it was. Morning air still clung to the chill, though Val had insisted on rolling down her window the whole drive, her hair whipping in the wind as she hummed to whatever song came on.

We’d picked up snacks on the way—coffee for me, bubble tea for her, and a paper bag filled with pastries that smelled like butter and sugar heaven. I was halfway through my croissant by the time we parked, crumbs dusting my jeans.

"You’re going to bring crumbs into the aquarium," she said, eyeing the pastry like it had offended her.

"I’ll feed them to the sharks," I replied, taking another bite.

> "You’d get arrested."

"For feeding sharks? Or for being too charming while doing it?"

She gave me a look. "Definitely the second one."

We got out, stretching after the drive. The building loomed in front of us—sleek glass reflecting the morning light, families already spilling through the entrance with kids tugging at their parents’ hands. The faint smell of saltwater and popcorn hit as the automatic doors whooshed open.

Val adjusted her sunglasses and walked a little ahead, scanning the map like she was assessing a business layout instead of an aquarium. That was so her.

I caught up beside her and said, "You remember the last time we came here?"

Her lips twitched. "Vaguely."

"You said, and I quote—’You took me to come look at fish?’"

She smiled now, and it wasn’t the polite kind. It was the genuine, I-know-what-you’re-doing smile. "And you deserved it. We were dating, and you made me stand in front of a tank for thirty minutes watching an eel blink."

"I was trying to impress you with my knowledge of marine ecosystems."

> "You misidentified a stingray."

"I was close."

> "You called it a ’flat shark.’"

I laughed. "I stand by that description."

She shook her head, but I saw the grin tugging at her mouth as we walked deeper inside. The lighting dimmed, that cool, blue shimmer filling the space like we’d stepped underwater. Kids pressed against glass tanks, their faces glowing in the soft light. The sound of water filters hummed around us, steady and calming.

Val slowed beside a massive tank filled with jellyfish—translucent and floating like they were part of the light itself. Her expression softened as she watched them.

"They look like something out of a dream," she murmured.

I smiled. "So now you like looking at fish?"

"They’re not fish," she corrected automatically. "They’re invertebrates."

I smirked. "And here I thought you weren’t paying attention last time."

We moved from one exhibit to the next, sometimes talking, sometimes just... being. She’d point out odd-looking creatures—an axolotl here, a lionfish there—and I’d give her overly serious "scientific" explanations until she laughed.

At one point, she stopped by a tank of clownfish and crossed her arms. "That’s the same species from Finding Nemo, right?"

"Yeah. You know, male clownfish can actually change sex if the dominant female dies."

She blinked, then turned slowly toward me. "Why do you know that?"

I sipped my coffee. "Research."

> "Into clownfish gender dynamics?"

"You’d be surprised how often it comes up."

She stared at me for a beat, then said, "You’re so weird," before walking off toward the next tank.

"Admit it," I called after her. "You’re impressed!"

She threw a glance over her shoulder, smiling. "Deeply."

We wandered into the tunnel exhibit next—the one where you walk beneath the tank and sharks swim above. The light flickered faintly across the glass, rippling over her face. She tilted her head back, watching the movement.

"This part always feels unreal," she said softly. "Like the world above us doesn’t exist."

"Maybe that’s why people like coming here," I said. "It feels like a break from everything."

She looked at me then—really looked. "A break we probably needed."

I nodded. "Yeah. We’ve been... running nonstop lately."

She hummed. "Working too much makes you age faster, you know."

"Is that science or Celestia logic?"

"Celestia logic," she said proudly. "It’s more reliable."

We stopped near a small seating area beside a coral reef display. A few kids ran past us laughing, the sound echoing through the hall. Val pulled out her bubble tea, stabbing the straw in with military precision. "You know," she said, "I actually like it here now."

I blinked. "You do?"

"I do." She took a long sip. "Maybe because you stopped narrating marine facts every ten seconds."

"I’ve matured," I said.

> "Mh-mm."

We sat there for a while, sharing snacks and people-watching. She leaned her head against my shoulder at some point, the way she always did when she felt completely at ease. I could feel the warmth of her skin through my shirt, smell the faint trace of her perfume.

"See?" I murmured. "Not so bad, huh?"

She didn’t lift her head. "I didn’t say that."

"You’re literally smiling."

> "That’s because my husband brought me here instead of working another twelve-hour at home."

"So, low bar?"

"Extremely low," she said, grinning.

We moved again after that, through the darker sections—the deep-sea creatures glowing with their strange bioluminescent light. Val stopped at a tank that looked almost empty until a tiny flicker of blue moved near the bottom.

She crouched down slightly, eyes narrowing. "That thing looks like a tiny alien."

"Technically it is," I said. "From the ocean."

She made a face. "I take back my compliment. You’re not allowed to teach me science."

I chuckled. "You’re the one who asked."

She stood again, brushing imaginary dust off her trousers. "I was being polite."

"Since when are you polite?"

"Since today," she said, lacing her fingers through mine. "It’s my good mood day."

"And what caused this rare miracle?"

She tilted her head playfully. "Maybe it’s because I got to wake you up."

"With violence."

> "With love."

"You bit my nose."

"With love," she repeated, completely unbothered.

We passed through the gift shop on our way out. She stopped in front of a wall of plushies—dolphins, penguins, seals. Without hesitation, she picked up a small jellyfish plush and held it up to me.

"It looks like you," she said.

I blinked. "How?"

> "Soft, confused, occasionally glowing."

"I don’t glow."

> "You do when you’re nervous."

I stared at her. "That’s not a compliment."

"It is to me." She bought it anyway.

We stayed until the sky began to shift toward late afternoon, the light softening to gold. When we finally stood to leave, Val stretched her arms over her head and sighed. "See? I told you we needed this."

"You were right," I admitted.

She smiled at that—small, content, victorious. "I’m always right."

We walked back to the car, still hand in hand. The city hummed quietly around us, the kind of peaceful that only comes on weekends when you let yourself slow down.

And for a moment, it felt like everything outside this day didn’t matter. No deadlines, no meetings, no corporate wars. Just her, and me, and the sound of the sea nearby.

But as I started the car and she leaned her head against the window, watching the skyline blur by, I felt that quiet weight return somewhere in the back of my chest.

Today had been light. Simple. Good.

But come Monday, the world would stop pretending to be calm.

And both of us knew it.

---

To be continued...