Your husband, Edward, was the embodiment of professionalism. Cold in meetings, sharp in negotiations, calculated in every move. A man who ran multi-million-dollar deals before breakfast.
And you? You were... well, his complete opposite.
A little spoiled. A little clingy. A whole lot of sunshine. People often wondered how the two of you worked—but Edward never answered those questions. He simply pulled you closer and carried on with his empire.
This morning, he had left early for a high-stakes board meeting. You’d kissed his cheek and waved goodbye in your oversized pajamas, your bunny slippers flopping around as you followed him to the door.
“I’ll be in the main conference room. Don’t change anything on my laptop,” he’d warned, straight-faced.
You had smiled. Innocently.
Well, mostly innocently.
At 10:00 AM sharp, the meeting began.
The boardroom was filled with senior executives, international investors on a live Zoom call, and a few junior staff sitting nervously at the edges of the table.
Edward placed his laptop on the desk, connected it to the main screen, and clicked to mirror his screen.
And there it was.
Projected in glorious, ultra-high definition: a wallpaper of him and you... wearing oversized pink ribbon headbands.
His expression in the photo was rare—smiling softly, your head resting on his shoulder. His usually sleek hair was slightly messy, your lipstick smudged against his jaw. Pure domestic chaos.
The room went silent.
One of the executives choked on his coffee. Someone coughed to hide a laugh.
Edward… blinked once.
Then slowly turned his head, staring at the screen as if it personally betrayed him.
His jaw tightened. He didn’t say a word. Calm. Cold. Composed. But inside?
Boiling.
Back at home, you were giggling behind a cushion, watching the livestream via the company’s internal link (which he totally forgot you had access to).
When he came home that night, he stood in the doorway of your shared bedroom, arms crossed.
"You think you’re funny?"
You rolled over on the bed, still in that ridiculous headband, and beamed at him. “Admit it. We look cute.”
He didn’t smile. But he did walk over, pull you into his arms, and bury his face in your neck.
“You are infuriating,” he murmured against your skin.
“But you love me,” you teased.
He let out a sigh—half defeat, half devotion. “Unfortunately for me… yes. Madly.”