The man tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting into a faint smirk. "Welcome back, dear wife."
"Don't you dare 'welcome back' me!" I snapped, still blinking in disbelief. "W-What are you doing here?"
He raised a brow, completely unfazed by my shock—or by the fact that he was practically naked in my kitchen. "Cooking."
"I can see that!" I sputtered. "But why are you cooking in my apartment?!"
He blinked, looking genuinely confused. "Don't husbands cook in the house they share with their wives? Since this is your home and you are my wife, then this is my home too."
"Husband?" I almost choked. "Who married you?!"
"You."
I approached him, glaring hard. "Let me tell you something, mister—we are NOT married! Don't try to scam me just because we had a one-night stand!"
He pouted, looking at me like I was the unreasonable one. Then he took something out of his pocket and waved it smugly in the air. "I would've treated it as a one-night stand, but wife, you signed the papers. It even has your thumbprint. We are married!"
My eyes widened. He couldn't be serious.
"And according to the contract," he continued calmly, "it's your responsibility to cook for me. But since this is our first day of marriage, I decided to treat my wife."
"Stop calling me wife!"
"Then… Madam?"
I glared harder.
"Honey?"
"Shut up."
"Sweetheart?"
"You—!"
"Darling?"
"Get out of my house!!"
He made a wounded expression, like I had stabbed him in the chest. "Wife, you can't kick your husband out on the first night of our marriage. That's too cruel!"
"For the last time, we are NOT married," I hissed.
"But you signed the—"
"I DID NOT!" I interrupted. "I was drugged. I don't remember anything."
"Don't worry, wife. I remember it for both of us," he said in a maddeningly calm tone.
My eyes twitched. "If you call me wife for one more time, I'll file a complaint and have you arrested. Do you get that? Also—how did you even get into my house?!"
"I made a duplicate of your key," he said, grinning proudly.
"When?"
"While you were sleeping, hehe!"
I just stared at him, dumbfounded. My suspicion was right—this man had definitely escaped from some kind of mental institute. There was a madman in my house, and he even duplicated my keys. Who does that?!
I narrowed my eyes. "Be honest—which mental hospital did you run from? I need to return you."
He pressed a hand to his heart dramatically. "Wife, that hurts."
I sighed, feeling physically and mentally exhausted. "Just leave my house."
He looked at me and just for a second—a tiny second, I thought he was going to listen. But then, he turned back to the stove and resumed cooking as if I were a background noise.
"Talking to you almost burnt our dinner," he murmured. "You must be tired. Go shower. I'll plate the food."
"........."
I stared at him in disbelief.
Who was this lunatic?
Why had he completely immersed himself in the role of being my husband? And the worst part? He actually looked good doing it.
Those arms… those shoulders… those strong back muscles... that V-line back.... that stupid apron accentuating that stupid waist—
I almost slapped myself mentally.
No. Stop that, Tang Xiyu!
Do not appreciate his arms. Do not appreciate that beautiful semi-naked body.
Focus, Tang Xiyu, FOCUS!
I cleared my throat. "Alright, listen here, Mr. Psychopath-in-a-pink-apron, whatever you think this is—"
"Dinner," he cut in smoothly.
"I'm calling the police!"
He calmly turned off the stove, plated the dish, and set it on the table. "Call them after you eat."
My mouth opened, and nothing came out. Who did this man think he was?! And why was he so shameless?!
"I am not eating with you!" I managed finally.
He leaned against the counter as if this was his kitchen. "That's fine. You don't eat, I'll feed you myself."
My eye twitched.
He was insane. Completely, utterly insane.
And worst of all, the food smelled divine.
"I'm not hungry," I insisted. "You take your dinner and leave my house RIGHT now!"
"It's our house, wife," he corrected gently, like I was a misbehaving child. "After our wedding night, what's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine. Now don't be angry and go get freshened up."
"I said I am not hungry!" I shouted at the top of my voice, but just then, my stomach grumbled loudly in protest. I blushed, holding my stomach. "Traitor!"
He chuckled, "See? Even your body agrees with me."
I looked up and glared, "Shut up!"
He laughed again, a low sound that made my stomach flip for entirely different reasons. Or maybe it was just the hunger. Obviously, the hunger.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the dining table. "Before the food gets cold."
"Sit? Why don't you sit outside, preferably five miles away from my house!" I jabbed a finger at the door. "I'm serious! You're leaving. Now. Take your apron. Take your crazy. And leave!"
He turned toward me slowly, eyes warm like he was looking at me and not just seeing me. "We can argue after dinner," he said softly. "But you need to get food in your stomach. You're shaking from exhaustion."
"I am not shaking," I snapped, only to realize I actually was.
Maybe, it was due to low blood sugar, or from standing too long, or from wanting to throw him out, but also throwing up if I didn't eat something first.
Damn him.
Suddenly, he stepped closer, way too close. I blinked, my heart skipped a beat. "W–What are you—"
He didn't answer. He just gently took my wrist and pulled me towards the sink. He just turned the tap on and washed my hands like I was a toddler. His touch was warm, steady, and weirdly natural, like this wasn't our first time doing it.
Like this was normal...
I should've jerked my hand away. I should've slapped him. I should've called the cops. Instead, I just stood there like a stunned goldfish while my brain lagged behind my body.
The next thing I knew, a chair was pulled out for me, and I was sitting at the table. I stared at the hot, piping food infront of me, torn between pride and hunger.
But when the aroma of beef and garlic hit me, my pride waved a little white flag. "Fine," I muttered in defeat, picking up my chopstick. "But this doesn't mean we are married, and I believe in your sham, got it?"
He smiled, serving me a bowl of rice. "We'll discuss that after dinner."
I narrowed my eyes, my chopsticks freezing midair. "What did you just say?"
"Eat first," he said smoothly.
I looked at him for a moment, then with a sigh, I took a bite.
Damn it. It was delicious.