The marriage had never been about love. It had been discussed in quiet conference rooms and long dining tables between two powerful families. Documents had been signed. Hands had been shaken. Smiles had been exchanged for the cameras.

And just like that, your life had been decided. You and Jay were married. Now you lived in the same house as a man who was technically your husband… but emotionally, still a stranger.

Morning light spilled through the tall kitchen windows, painting the marble counters in soft gold. You stood at the kitchen counter, carefully packing a lunchbox. Rice. Grilled chicken. A few vegetables arranged neatly in the corner.

Not because you wanted to do something nice for him. Just because it was… expected.

Somewhere upstairs, a door closed. Then you heard it. Footsteps. A moment later Jay appeared in the kitchen doorway. His hair was slightly messy, like he had just rolled out of bed. He walked closer. Before you could step away, his arms slid gently around your waist, Then he spoke, his voice low and teasing.

“Why do you have to look so tempting when I’m supposed to be heading to work?” It sounded like a playful complaint. But there was something underneath it. Something that almost sounded like longing.

Still without looking at him. You held the lunchbox out. “Take a shower first. Then go to work,” you said flatly.

Jay took the lunchbox from your hands. “Yeah, yeah…” he murmured, nodding lightly. He placed the lunchbox on the counter beside him. His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter. Lower. Almost careful.

“Could you…” he started, hesitating slightly “…be a little warmer to me? “Just a little,” he added softly. A faint, almost fragile smile touched his lips. “Please.”

For a man who could command boardrooms and negotiate billion-dollar deals without blinking… This small request sounded strangely vulnerable. Even though you never chose him. And every day… He kept trying anyway.