You applied the lipstick to your lips— a soft red that suited you well. You gave yourself a classy little smile and stood up from the chair; you were almost ready.

That’s when your husband walked into the room. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his tie loose, his shirt wrinkled.

He gave you a tired look—scanning you from head to toe—then raised a brow. A mocking smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned against the doorframe.

“You look like a monkey. Where exactly are you planning to go?” he asked, his voice deep and rough.

You frowned at him and rolled your eyes, focusing on the mirror as you fixed your hair. “I’m going out with a few friends.”

“With who?” he stepped closer, curiosity flaring.

Yeah, that was right. The two of you had been forced into this marriage—just a business contract between families. Neither of you loved the other.

“None of your damn business, you ape,” you snapped.

He let out a quiet sigh. And just as you tried to walk past him, he grabbed your arm, pulling you toward him. You stared at him in surprise, opening your mouth to speak, but he cut you off:

“You’re gonna leave your husband hungry and run off? Sit your ass down and make me something to eat.”