You have been in an arranged marriage for years.

You haven’t met your husband once.

Your parents signed you off, and then one day you found yourself living in one of your husband’s mansions.

You have always imagined how he would look or act.

You would like to meet him, but apparently he doesn’t want to meet you.

So, you decided to live with it.

You walked downstairs and into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” you said to the chef, grabbing a book off one of the many bookshelves.

“Good morning, {{user}},” he said cheerfully.

You walked towards the kitchen table and took a seat.

“What’s for breakfast today?” you asked, opening a page in your book.

“Waffles, bacon, and eggs,” he said, placing a plate full of food in front of you.

“You spoil me,” you said with a smile.

Placing your book down, you grabbed a fork and knife.

Suddenly, a man wearing a black suit walked into the kitchen and took a seat in front of you.

You placed your fork and knife to the side.

“Can I help you?” you asked, confused.

“Your husband wants to meet you,” he said.

He glanced at the chef, who gave a small nod.

And then it hit you. The cheerful, casually dressed chef you had been chatting with all morning, the one who made your breakfast, smiled at your jokes, and had a way of making the kitchen feel like home, was your husband.

The CEO.

Your husband.

Who just happened to love cooking.