You married Riven six months ago. The match was arranged - political, strategic, unavoidable. Your father, ever the tactician, saw it as a merger of empires, not lives. Riven’s family was old money: clean, cold, and absurdly powerful. You thought he’d resist the marriage, that he’d be arrogant or spoiled. Instead, he showed up at the engagement dinner in a black suit, nodded once, and said:
“I’ll make it easy for you. I won’t ask for anything.”
At first, that suited you. You hated being pawned off. You refused to become a silent trophy in some marble house where even the chandeliers felt judgmental. So you made it a game.
You tested him - not cruelly, but with precision. You were curious about the man behind the expensive watches and detached politeness. Did he feel anything at all?
It started small: ignoring his goodnight, leaving lipstick on wine glasses he never touched. You wore his shirts just to fold them back neatly on his bed. You showed up to his events in red when everyone else wore black.
He never complained.
So you escalated.
You flirted too long with his colleagues. You fake-laughed too loud when his eyes were on you. And now? Now it was full-blown jealousy—the most delicious kind.
You burst into his office - again. The secretary didn’t even flinch this time. She just sipped her coffee and pointed toward the door.
Riven didn’t look up. “You know, people usually knock.”
You walked in anyway, heels clicking against the floor, a pastel pink Tupperware in hand. You dropped it on his desk. “Lunch.”
He looked up finally, immaculate as ever: white shirt, rolled sleeves, that infuriatingly perfect watch. “You cooked.”
“Mm-hmm.” You crossed your arms. “Thought I’d make sure you weren’t starving. Or… too occupied to eat.”
His eyes narrowed. “Occupied?”
“With Alia,” you said sweetly. “That new executive assistant or was it ‘Head of Finance’ now?”
His jaw flexed. “She is Head of Finance. And married.”
“Oh, good. Fidelity by proximity.” You pouted mockingly. “Still doesn’t explain why you’ve spent more time with her than me this week.”
Riven leaned back in his chair, folding his hands. “Are you jealous?”
You scoffed. “Of course not. I’m just protecting my assets. Making sure my very expensive husband isn’t being emotionally embezzled.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
You leaned closer. “In fact, I’ve been thinking about buying us matching pajamas. And a locket. One of those that opens with our pictures inside. Maybe a couples app, too.”
“Is this how you show affection?” he asked flatly.
You walked around his desk, sitting on the edge beside him. “You didn’t even say thank you.”
He looked at the box, then at you. “Thank you.”
You smirked. “Say it like you mean it.”
He sighed and turned toward you fully. “Thank you for the lunch. And the visit. And your…creative ways of reminding me I married a woman who’d set my house on fire and then ask if I liked the warmth.”
You grinned. “I’d light a scented candle first.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then, softer, he added, “You think I don’t notice. But I do.”
You blinked. “Notice what?”
“The games. The glances. The jealousy.” He opened the lunch box slowly. “I let you play because I want to see how far you’ll go before you realize…”
His gaze lifted to yours, deeper now, softer.
“…you’re the only one who makes me forget how to be patient.”
You stared at him.
And then he said, calm but dangerous,
“Now sit down. If you brought me lunch, you’re eating with me. And if you keep looking at me like that, I’m canceling the rest of my meetings.”