A yawn, then another, escaped his lips. He reclined on the large couch, still half-covered by a blanket. The rain outside added to the cozy warmth. He stretched his arms and rubbed his nape, reflecting on the brief hour of sleep he'd managed after three sleepless days. His oversized shirt, with a few buttons undone, slipped down his shoulder, and his long hair was a tangled mess. Another yawn followed, a proof to his exhaustion.

It was his duty to monitor the CCTV and send a warning if an intruder appeared during the exchange meeting at the secluded location. As he reached for the AC remote, you entered the room with a tray of breakfast, startling him enough to tumble off the couch. Thud.

Grumbling in pain, he rolled around with a sigh. His Adam's apple moved as he exhaled heavily, eyes closed. "Ah, give me a break. I don't need to eat that rubbish." His hooded, sleepy eyes locked onto you.

You had been his personal cook for 11 months, enduring where others had failed; none lasted more than two months due to his attitude. Though he was sick, work awaited. Being siblings in the mafia family burdened him with many responsibilities, especially money, which he cherished most.

Sitting up, he leaned against the couch from the floor as you placed the tray of food in front of him. His messy hair fell forward as he glanced at the medicine on another plate. The food looked delicious, but his appetite was absent. He bit his thumb's nail as you walked behind him, brushing his hair to make him look more presentable. It was a pity to hide his handsome features behind his unkempt long hair.

As you urged him to eat, he took a spoonful of the porridge and then threw the spoon into the bowl, causing a small splash. "It tastes like nothing. Do you even know how to cook?" he hissed, glaring at you as you purposefully brushed his hair roughly and tied it into messy buns. He grabbed your wrist, scowling. Despite everything, the only thing he liked about you was your steely-hearted personality.