C8 8

David took great pride in his physique. He was a man of intense self-discipline and refused to let himself go; in his world, losing weight was a much harder battle than maintaining a strict regimen.

Chloe smiled. "You have a very good figure, Mr. Jones."

She paused. "Well then... should I head back to my room?"

David gave a curt nod.

"Goodnight." Chloe offered the greeting and turned to leave.

"Wait. Bishop... Chloe."

David called her back.

She stopped and looked over her shoulder. "Is there something else?"

David’s eyes swept over her, his expression unreadable. "In the future... don't come out in your pajamas."

His eyes were sharp. Her pajamas were thin, and she wasn't wearing a bra underneath; he had seen everything he was supposed to see—and a few things he wasn't. They were technically married, so it wasn't a crime for him to look, but the thought of her dressing so casually around anyone else annoyed him. He didn't want his wife’s body on display for the world.

Chloe’s face turned scarlet. Without a word, she sprinted back to her room and slammed the door shut.

David: "..."

I’m not even the one who's embarrassed, yet she’s the one running away, he thought.

After sitting in silence for a few minutes, David returned to the Lord suite. The apartment had been a rushed purchase; it was "move-in ready" with high-end finishes, but because of his schedule, he hadn't had time to properly organize his things.

One thing he found satisfactory, however, was Chloe’s sense of boundaries. She hadn't tried to cling to him or insist on sharing his bed, nor had she made any demands regarding his "husbandly duties."

The rest of the night passed in a peaceful, distant silence.

The next morning, Chloe woke up at 6:00 AM out of habit.

Back at her sister’s place, this was the time she would start preparing breakfast for three, tidying the house, and doing the laundry. For years, she had basically functioned as a live-in maid. She did it to ease her sister’s burden, but in her brother-in-law’s eyes, it was simply her duty. He had grown accustomed to bossing her around.

Staring at the ceiling of her new, unfamiliar room, the memories of the previous day flooded back. Chloe muttered to herself, "I’m still half-asleep. I thought I was back at my sister’s... This is my own home now. I can sleep in."

She pulled the duvet over her head, determined to luxuriate in her new freedom.

Ten minutes later, she gave up. Her internal clock was too well-regulated; once she was awake, she was awake. Besides, her stomach was starting to growl.

She washed up, changed into proper clothes, and stepped into the hallway. The door to the Lord suite was tightly shut. He returned so late last night; there’s no way he’s up yet, she thought.

She wandered into the kitchen, but the sight of the empty counters made her sigh. She had ordered a mountain of kitchenware online yesterday, but none of it had arrived yet.

I should have just gone to a supermarket instead of waiting for shipping, she scolded herself.

Recalling that there were several breakfast stalls near the entrance of the complex, Chloe decided to head out and pick something up. She didn't know what David liked to eat, and she didn't want to wake him to ask, so she decided to buy a variety of everything.

She picked up a spread of Toronto classics: steamed rice rolls , steamed dumplings, fried dough sticks, soy milk, and a container of century egg and pork.

David may have gone to bed late, but he wasn't a late sleeper. Shortly after Chloe left, he woke up.

Not yet used to having a wife, he completely forgot about Chloe’s existence. He stepped out of his room shirtless, intending to head to the kitchen for a glass of water. Just as he reached the center of the living room, the front door clicked open.

Chloe walked in with bags of breakfast, and the two of them froze, staring at each other.

A heartbeat passed. David suddenly realized his state of dress. He mimicked Chloe’s reaction from the night before—crossing his arms over his chest in a "protective" stance—and sprinted back into his bedroom.

Chloe stood by the door, stunned for a second, before she burst into a fit of giggles.

What’s the big deal with a man’s chest? she thought, amused. At most, I’d just count his abs. The way he covered himself up... honestly, he looked like a panicked maiden!

When David finally re-emerged, he was dressed in a crisp, expensive suit. His face was thunderous, though he couldn't find the words to scold her.

He had forgotten there was a stranger—a woman who was technically his wife—living in his house. In his private villa, he usually had the entire second floor to himself. Unless he summoned them, the servants never dared to come up, so he was used to walking around half-dressed.

Today, that habit had cost him his dignity in front of this "scheming woman."

"Mr. Jones, I brought breakfast. Come and eat," Chloe called out. Her stomach hurt from laughing, but she managed to set the table with the various bags she had brought home.

David remained silent for a moment before walking over. He surveyed the spread of street food with a skeptical eye. "You don't know how to cook?" he asked coolly.

"I do. My cooking is actually excellent."

"Breakfast from outside—especially these roadside stalls—isn't hygienic," David remarked, his voice laced with the disdain of a man who usually ate meals prepared by five-star chefs. "In the future, try to eat less of this. If you can cook, do it at home. It’s safer."

Being the head of the Jones family, he had never touched the "commoner" breakfast that most of Toronto lived on.

Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Have you looked at your kitchen? It’s cleaner than your face. There’s nothing in there. Even if I were a chef at a Michelin-star restaurant, I can't whip up a feast without pots, pans, or ingredients."

David was struck speechless.

"Are you going to eat or not?" she asked.

His stomach gave a traitorous growl. To save face, David sat down and said stiffly, "You’ve already bought it. It would be a waste not to eat it. Eating it once or twice won't kill me."

Always finding an excuse for himself, Chloe thought.

She divided the portions, giving him half of everything. As they ate, she mentioned, "I saw the state of the house when I moved in yesterday, so I ordered kitchenware online. Once it arrives, I’ll handle the groceries and cooking. I won't make you eat 'unhygienic' street food anymore."

She figured a man who worked for a major corporation probably had a certain status—a white-collar professional who cared about appearances. She preferred home-cooked meals anyway; if he was picky, she was happy to accommodate.

"There are still a lot of things missing in this house," she continued. "Is it okay if I furnish and decorate it according to my plan?"

David looked up from his rice roll. He had to admit, the taste wasn't half-bad.

"Since we registered, we are husband and wife. This is your home too," he said flatly. "You can decorate it however you like, as long as you don't touch my room."

She could flip the rest of the house upside down for all he cared, as long as his private sanctuary remained undisturbed.

"Great."

With his permission, Chloe began mentally planning. She would fill the balcony with flowers and buy that swing chair she wanted. She could already see herself lounging there with a book.

"By the way," David added, "Grandma mentioned she wants me to take you back to the family house this weekend to meet everyone."

He took a sip of soy milk. "We'll see when the weekend comes. If I have time, we'll go. If not, I’ll have Grandma bring my parents over for a simple meal instead."

Chloe had no objections. "That works for me."