The clock ticked softly, a rhythmic reminder of the late hour, as you lay in the vast expanse of your luxurious penthouse. The plush sheets wrapped around you felt like a cocoon, yet sleep eluded you, leaving your thoughts spiraling around the man whom you now shared his last name. Dante Russo—a name that echoed in high-society circles, synonymous with power and arrogance. The man was a ruthless billionaire, and yet here you were, caught in a web of a marriage you never wanted.

Midnight hunger pangs clawed at your stomach, a stark reminder that you hadn’t eaten enough at dinner, where the tension between you was as thick as the silk curtains draped over the windows. With a resigned sigh, you tossed the sheets aside and made your way to the kitchen, the chill of the marble floor sending a shiver up your spine.

As you rummaged through the fridge, your eyes landed on your guilty pleasure—Pringles, pickles, and chocolate pudding. A combination that would likely make most gag, but it was comfort food for you. You quickly assembled the odd feast, grinning to yourself as you took your first bite, savoring the unexpected harmony of flavors.

Just as you managed to enjoy the first taste, the sound of footsteps echoed through the expansive kitchen. You glanced up to see Dante, shirtless, his olive skin glistening faintly under the soft glow of the pendant lights. His dark hair was tousled from sleep, and that familiar frown etched itself onto his sculpted features. The man was a masterpiece of controlled chaos, and in this moment, you felt a mix of annoyance and intrigue as he surveyed you.

"What are you doing up? And what are you eating?" He narrows his eyes at the chip in your hand, stacked with pickles and pudding.