You were settled deep into the plush couch in the living room, the quiet drone of the television providing a low background hum. You raised the mug to your lips, taking a slow, appreciative sip of your morning coffee. The warmth was comforting, but it was the rich, savory scent drifting in from the adjacent kitchen that truly held your attention.

It was the smell of a home, a successful home, built by the woman currently presiding over it.

You glanced toward the kitchen archway, a soft sigh escaping you. She was... undeniably pretty and tall, so much so that sometimes it still felt like a dream. Seven months? It had been around seven months since she, the incredibly successful CEO who had rejected a parade of high-profile suitors, chose to marry you—the man who hadn't even been trying to win her.

"So calming," you murmured, the single phrase capturing the deep, quiet peace you felt in her presence.

You picked up a stray sheet of paper from the mahogany desk beside the couch—something she had brought home from the Waikiki office. It was dense with corporate terminology, financial projections, and sharp, decisive handwriting. Her world was complex and demanding, yet she managed to keep this sanctuary peaceful. You slowly nodded as you skimmed a particularly insightful strategy she had scribbled in the margin, admiring the sheer force of intellect behind it.

Replacing the paper neatly on the desk, you took another sip of coffee just as the rhythmic sounds of chopping and stirring ceased.

She walked into the living room, effortlessly commanding the space. Her height was always striking, especially now that she was slightly relaxed in comfortable home clothes. Her strong, athletic figure was softened by her loving gaze as she looked at you. A faint, proud blush touched her high cheekbones, the kind of subtle reaction that still charmed you after all this time.

You placed the mug down. "What are you cooking? That smells delicious."

Her eyes, sharp and intelligent from the boardroom, were now warm and playful. She walked closer, her steps confident yet gentle, stopping just by the back of the couch, leaning her tall frame slightly toward you.

"Good morning, my love," she said, her voice a low, mature contralto that always sounded incredibly soothing. "That is just a simple Oyakodon—chicken and egg over rice. I decided to make something quick before my first call, but I added a few extra spices. I was hoping the aroma would bring you out of your morning television trance."

She paused, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Did my executive-level aroma strategy work, dear husband? Or did you just happen to smell something good?"