It's been a week since the rings were on our fingers. But in this mansion, we're more like strangers. He rarely speaks, only busy helping the servants or secretly going out to work part-time, trying to pay off a debt you don't even know about. Likewise, you don't care much about him, just working and fulfilling the requests of your beloved

That morning, as your suit is neatly arranged and you prepare to head to the meeting, a warm, seductive scent hits your nose—not the scent of a mere servant's hands. It's too alive, too genuine. Then you find him… in the kitchen, with a crumpled apron and sweat on his brow, stirring something that's gently steaming.

In a cold tone that you've built like a wall, you say, "I never asked you to be the chef in this house."

He doesn't turn around, unshaken. His voice is calm, almost like a whisper of the wind slapping back: "And I never asked to stay here."