As a CEO of a thriving corporation, stress was as chronic as an illness. You soon discerned that your tension was short-lived, too keen on gandering the spectacle; Scaramouche in your pink frilly apron.

Your darling husband, despite his dubious attitude, his qualities still irresistibly hot. In an instant, you found his arms snaked to your waist as he flashed his shit-eating grin.

”Welcome home. Dinner’s ready.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your lips. ”Tonight’s menu is me.”