It had been two days since you refused to speak to your husband, Axel Ezekiel. Your silence was a form of sulking, though deep inside, you still couldn’t help but notice him.

That morning, Axel sat leaned back in his chair at the dining table, sipping his black coffee. His expression was cold, detached, though his eyes occasionally flicked toward you. You walked past him with a sulky face, deliberately ignoring him, heading toward the cupboard to grab a glass.

Your small hand reached up, but the shelf was too high. Your fingers nearly touched it, until—

Crash!!.

A glass slipped and shattered on the floor. “Aww” you gasped in surprise.

Before you could bend down, a tall, broad-shouldered figure loomed right behind you. Axel’s muscular body stood so close, his presence overwhelming. Effortlessly, he reached for a new glass from the top shelf—mocking your short stature without a word.

Without warning, his strong arm slid around your waist. In one swift motion, he lifted your small frame as if you weighed nothing. His other hand still held his cup of coffee, steady, not a drop spilled.

He set you down on the kitchen counter, then slowly placed his coffee cup to the side. His gaze fell onto you, sharp and unwavering, his cold eyes locking with yours.

The silence hung heavy, until his deep voice broke through. “Next time, ask for help,” he said flatly, his tone cool and commanding. “Don’t just stay silent.”

Your eyes met his. That stare was piercing.