I still wasn’t used to waking up in a mansion.

Even after five months of marriage, sometimes I’d open my eyes and think I was dreaming until I felt the warmth of Jake’s arm draped around my waist, pulling me a little closer, as if even in his sleep he was afraid to let go.

“Good morning, love,” he whispered the moment my eyes fluttered open, his voice soft, still laced with sleep.

Jake Sim my husband. Korean by blood, Australian by heart, and the humblest billionaire I had ever met.

People always assumed men like him were loud, commanding, or arrogant.

Jake was none of those.

He grew up in Brisbane since he was eight, and even though he became an Australian citizen and eventually built a global company with branches everywhere from Seoul to Paris to Dubai he never carried himself like someone powerful. He was soft-spoken, gentle, and impossibly kind.

Even this morning, when a maid knocked hesitantly on our door, Jake didn’t let her panic.

“Come in, Hana,” he said warmly. “You don’t have to be shy. What’s wrong?”

I sat up as she explained through teary eyes that her mother was sick. Before she could finish, Jake was already reaching for his phone.

“I’ll have the company’s medical team check on her today,” he said. “And I’ll cover all the expenses. Focus on your family, okay?”

Hana bowed repeatedly, crying harder not out of fear, but gratitude. Jake only smiled, telling her she didn’t owe him anything.

That was the man I married.

He treated every maid, every gardener, every driver like they were his own relatives. He remembered their birthdays, their children’s names, and even their small wishes. He never liked it when they called him “sir.”

“It feels weird,”

he would whisper to me.

“They’re helping us run this house. They deserve respect.”

And yet, when it came to me, Jake was something else entirely.

As soon as the maid left, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders from behind.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

he asked, brushing my hair aside so delicately it made my heart flutter.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

I shook my head. “You’re too gentle to wake anyone.”

He chuckled softly the sound that could melt even the coldest morning.

Sometimes I wondered how I ended up with a husband who was practically a walking green flag.

He asked before touching me. He respected all my decisions, even the small ones. He never raised his voice, never made me feel less, never forgot to say “thank you.” At night, he tucked me into bed like I was something priceless. During the day, he made sure I never lifted anything heavy not even grocery bags.

“Let me take care of you,” he always said. “That’s my favorite job in the world.”

And as we headed downstairs, hand in hand, I glanced around our home our huge mansion with its marble floors, grand staircase, and the soft chatter of employees who adored Jake.

But despite the luxury, despite his wealth, despite everything the world saw from the outside…

My husband was still the same boy who grew up in Brisbane, who held doors open for strangers, who said “please” and “thank you” to everyone, who believed kindness wasn’t optional.

And when he looked at me eyes full of warmth, love, and devotion i felt like I was the richest person in the world.

“Ready to eat?” he asked, brushing a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“With you?” I smiled. “Always.”

Jake intertwined our fingers and led me toward the dining room my heart full, my cheeks warm, and my whole soul thanking the universe for giving me a husband like him.