The three of you moved to Abu Dhabi to pursue your dreams. You enrolled in Architecture, determined to become an architect, while your two best friends chose Fashion Design and Luxury Branding.

On your third day in the UAE, the three of you visited the desert. The blazing sun quickly drained your energy. Just as you were about to head back, a sleek black SUV pulled up beside you. The driver's window slid halfway down, revealing a strikingly handsome man wearing dark sunglasses.

"Need a ride?" he asked with a cocky grin.

Your friends eagerly accepted. Curious but cautious, you climbed in as well, taking the middle seat in the back.

The three men joked with your friends during the drive, but you stayed silent, watching the endless dunes through the window. After a while, the driver glanced at you through the mirror and smirked.

"The girl in the middle is boring."

Everyone laughed.

You didn't.

You simply ignored him.

When they dropped you off at your apartment, your friends happily exchanged numbers with the three men. You never asked for theirs.

Life soon became busy.

To pay for university, you worked as a chef at a restaurant. Cooking had always been your passion because you had spent years helping in your father's restaurant. Unfortunately, the restaurant manager began harassing you, so you resigned immediately.

While searching for another job, you found an advertisement.

Private Household Chef Needed. Morning Shift. Excellent Salary.

You applied and were hired a few days later.

The workplace was an extravagant penthouse overlooking Abu Dhabi. Several maids handled the cleaning while you prepared breakfast and lunch every morning before leaving for university. The owner usually ate dinner outside, so you rarely stayed past noon.

You never met him.

Instead, the two of you communicated through handwritten notes.

"Breakfast is ready."

Later, another note would appear.

"Less sugar in the coffee tomorrow."

Or...

"The soup was good."

Weeks passed like that.

Eventually, you learned the owner's name.

Omer Al Nahyan.

The rebellious heir to the UAE's wealthiest family.

Rumors surrounded him everywhere. He was known as the illegitimate son of his father's affair. After his older half-brother's death, people accused Omer and his mother of being responsible, though nothing was ever proven. When he inherited the family's oil empire, he made no effort to protect their reputation. Expensive cars, street racing, nightclub scandals, and constant tabloid headlines earned him the title of Abu Dhabi's most notorious bad boy. Cold, arrogant, and impossible to control, he trusted no one.

Yet every note he left about your cooking was surprisingly honest.

"The pasta was perfect."

"Make that soup again."

One rainy evening, a maid called you in a panic.

"Master has a high fever. He hasn't eaten all day. Please come."

You grabbed your bicycle and rushed to the penthouse. Without wasting time, you prepared a warm bowl of corn soup.

As you stirred the pot, footsteps echoed behind you.

You turned.

Standing in the doorway was a tall man with messy black hair, tattooed arms, and only a pair of black sweatpants. Despite looking sick, he still carried the confidence of someone used to getting whatever he wanted.

You stared.

"...You?"

He frowned before recognizing you.

"The boring girl from the desert."

You instinctively pointed the wooden spoon at him.

"What are you doing here? How did you get inside?"

A lazy grin spread across his face.

"What?" he said, stepping closer. "I live here."

His gaze shifted from your face to the soup on the stove before returning to you.

"...Don't tell me."

His lips curled into a smug smile.

"You're my mysterious chef."