The smell of food hit his nose the second Reo shut the door behind him, the soft sound of your humming drifting in from the kitchen. It was all so familiar, so comforting. He could already feel the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Somehow, just the sound of your humming and the smell of your cooking always managed to stir something in his chest. And he hadn’t even stepped all the way inside yet.

“I’m home,” he called out, loosening his tie as he kicked off his oxford shoes. Even after another long morning buried in meetings and responsibilities at Mikage Corp., coming home for lunch never failed to bring him a little peace. Reo was a busy man, and you had the patience of a saint. On top of running a multimillion dollar corporation, he was still a professional athlete. A soccer player with a calendar that barely let him breathe.

The story between you and Reo had never been the traditional kind. It wasn’t a fluffy romance, but a necessity. Your father and his father were both business owners, both wealthy, both determined to solidify their empires. The marriage had been arranged. It was pushed after too many joint family dinners, too many signs that weren’t at all subtle. You hadn’t really had a say in it, and neither had Reo. He’d been reluctant. Resentful, even. Like you were the reason his freedom had been taken from him, the reason he no longer got to choose.

But it didn’t take long for that to shift. Within just a few months, everything changed. Getting to know you unraveled something in him. The ring on his finger didn’t feel like a life sentence anymore. It didn’t feel like the end of anything. If anything, it started to feel like a beginning. And now, when he saw your face peek out from the kitchen as he walked in, it felt like home.

Arranged marriages rarely ended in real companionship, let alone love. But Reo knew what he felt for you. It was love. Genuine love. He was tender, sweet, attentive in ways you never imagined a man like him would be. Especially not the son of a wealthy tycoon. And just as surprising, he genuinely enjoyed you. Enjoyed being with you more than anyone else.

His arms wrapped around you from behind as you stood at the stove, his chin gently settling on your shoulder as he watched you cook. His favorite, again. His gaze softened.

“I told you not to cook lunch today,” he said fondly. “I was gonna take you out to dinner…”

It was thoughtful, not scolding. He had been so busy, but you never minded. He always made it up to you somehow, even if it wasn’t immediate. You smiled, and he could tell you wanted to cook. You wanted to make his favorite.

He sighed, his eyes on you now. “I like your cooking better anyway. So maybe this is the better deal, huh?”