....Wait.."What!! Is this what they call casual clothes around here?" My jaw nearly dropped as I stared at the rack before me. This wasn't casual—this was a stunning collection, each piece more luxurious than the last. Silken blouses shimmered under the store's lighting, their delicate fabric whispering of wealth. Even the so-called "simple" sweaters looked like something pulled from a runway show.
I turned to glance at my husband, hoping—praying—that this was some sort of elaborate joke. But his face remained as unreadable as ever, calm and stoic as if this was all perfectly normal. His reaction, or rather his lack of one, convinced me immediately. He wasn't messing with me. He wasn't the type to crack a joke anyway. I couldn't even imagine that man laughing,pftt that stoic face.
My gaze flickered back to the clothes, but disbelief still weighed on me. My mind spun, replaying the absurdity over and over. Casual? I must have stood frozen far too long, because the silence stretched unbearably between us, thickening with each passing second. My throat itched to say something, anything, just to break the awkwardness—
And then, finally, his deep voice cut through.
"What's the problem?"
I nearly rolled my eyes. Now he noticed? The fact that it had taken him this long stung more than I wanted to admit. Was I really that unimportant to him, that invisible?
He stood, moving closer until his tall frame towered above me. The sharp line of his brows furrowed deeply, shadows darkening his expression. My heart stumbled violently against my ribs, every beat loud enough to echo in my ears. My breathing turned shallow, uneven, a mess of nervous gasps.
When he stood this close, the air itself seemed to shift. His cologne—clean, crisp, threaded with something darker—wrapped around me and tugged at my senses until I thought I might drown in it. My palms dampened, my fingers fidgeting uselessly at my side.
I was so lost in the storm of his presence that I didn't even realize he had spoken again. A question, low and commanding, but the words slipped right past me.
I didn't dare ask him to repeat himself. Who in their right mind would ever tell a CEO—this CEO—to say something again? I could already imagine the cutting stare he'd give in response. So instead, I nodded quickly, pretending to understand.
His own nod followed, brief but weighted. Yet in his eyes, for the briefest of seconds, something flickered. I saw it—something that twisted painfully at my chest, like an invisible hand had reached inside and clenched my heart.
He had always been distant, that much I knew. Always watching me with an air of cool amusement, like I was some peculiar creature to be studied from afar. But this… this was different. His gaze no longer carried curiosity. It was cold now, distant in a way that made me feel like a stranger in his world.
Wait. What am I doing?
"Leah, focus!" I scolded myself silently.
I pinched my arm hard, forcing my thoughts back into line. I had promised myself I wouldn't get attached, not even a little. This marriage wasn't love—it was a contract, a transaction with an expiration date. The moment it ended, I'd be nothing more than a forgotten name in his memory. So why should I care about how he looked at me? Why should his coldness sting?
I shook my head quickly, brushing the foolish thought away. Still, my eyes betrayed me. They drifted to his face once more, tracing the tight line of his jaw, the storm gathering in his furrowed brows. For a ridiculous second, I imagined reaching out, smoothing those brows back into place with my fingertips.
He looked like a man carrying the weight of countless decisions, his mind caught in deliberation I could never hope to understand. Seconds stretched endlessly until, without warning, his gaze snapped back to mine.
Our eyes locked.
I almost gasped , caught off guard, as if his stare alone could strip away every wall I had built around myself.
I pinched the soft flesh of my arm again, willing my mind to snap back into focus. His voice—steady, low, and impossibly authoritative—rolled over me.
"I'll talk to Xavier about arranging a change of style. Tomorrow at noon, we'll invite a fashion designer to record your preferences. The current collection will be replaced since you don't like them."
He said it so matter-of-factly, as if my opinion were a sealed verdict, before turning on his heel to leave. His broad shoulders cut a sharp line as he walked away, every step calculated, unhurried.
I froze, staring at him in disbelief.
Wait… what?
When did I ever say I didn't like them? My mouth opened slightly, but no words slipped out. A few seconds passed before realization crashed into me like a wave.
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
It must have been what he was asking earlier—the question I'd pretended to hear but didn't. My heart sank straight to the floor. I almost facepalmed right there in the closet, my hand twitching halfway to my forehead.
"Ugh, Leah, seriously?!" I muttered under my breath, cursing and scolding myself in equal measure. I was known in the office for my sharp precision, my meticulous attention to detail. My colleagues trusted me with the toughest reports because I didn't miss a thing. But around this man? Around him? Everything I prided myself on shattered to pieces. I wasn't the competent, professional Leah anymore—I was a nervous wreck, a walking disaster.
My tongue itched to call him back, to clear up the misunderstanding. But the thought of sounding whiny or, worse, annoying, kept me rooted in place. The last thing I wanted was to seem like a bothersome wife, pestering a man who clearly had more important things on his mind.
So I let him leave.
The door clicked softly behind him, sealing my silence inside. I lifted my hand and tapped myself lightly on the head, as if that would knock some sense back in. My gaze drifted to the closed door of the closet, still heavy with the faint scent of his cologne.
I sighed and shook my head. "I'm going to get dumber the longer I'm around this man," I muttered, half amused, half defeated. "He's shutting down my brain cells one by one, making them forget how to send signals to each other."
The image was so ridiculous I actually chuckled. The sound felt strange—small and private, breaking the tension that had wrapped tightly around me.
With a helpless shake of my head, I let my body sink onto the side of the bed. The mattress dipped under my weight, its softness a stark contrast to the heaviness in my chest. I tilted slightly, tugging at the hemline of my pants, adjusting the way the fabric pooled around my ankles as if fixing something external could balance the chaos inside me.
For a moment, I just sat there, staring into space. Somewhere between laughter and frustration, between exhaustion and a strange thrill that only this man seemed capable of drawing out of me.
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