Nathaniel had spent the whole evening entertaining guests and rushed back as soon as the banquet ended. He truly hadn't eaten much.
But after that dance—she was all he could think about.
"What do you feel like eating?" Celia asked softly. "I'll make you some noodles."
He nodded. "Sounds good."
······
While Nathaniel went upstairs to handle an urgent document in his study, Celia got to work in the kitchen.
Twenty minutes later, he returned to find her standing by the counter, a bowl of steaming noodles already prepared.
Simple broth, lightly seasoned with soy sauce and sesame oil, a perfectly fried golden egg on top, and crisp green vegetables on the side—it looked clean and comforting, the kind of warmth that pulled you in after a long day.
He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her slender waist.
"Mrs. Fu," he whispered near her ear, "I didn't expect you to cook this well."
Celia handed him a cup of tea. "Here, drink this."
The tea had a soothing aroma, something floral and faintly sweet. Nathaniel took a sip and raised an eyebrow. "What kind of herbal tea is this?"
"Don't worry about the flower," she replied with a playful smile. "It's good for you. Helps you sleep."
"Sleep?" He gave her a suggestive look. "Funny, I thought it was supposed to give me energy. I was hoping to sleep with you, but it turns out you just want me to sleep."
She turned scarlet.
The same word—so different coming from him.
Embarrassed, Celia picked up a cherry tomato from the plate and popped it into his mouth to shut him up.
Nathaniel chewed and grimaced. "Sour."
"What? No way," she said. "I just had one—it was sweet."
"I'm serious. Want to try?" He caught her hand before she could reach for another and held it firmly. "Here," he said with a smirk, and leaned in to kiss her lips.
"Mmmph!"
The tomato passed between their mouths, and its juicy sweetness burst like sunlight in both of their mouths. The moment was warm, intimate, and filled with the kind of joy that sent dopamine dancing through the brain—delicious and addictive.
He'd tricked her.
Celia glared at him, cheeks burning. "Eat your noodles! They're going to get soggy."
But Nathaniel only pulled her closer, one large hand on her waist. His voice dropped, low and husky, "Relax. I want to have dessert first."
His sudden enthusiasm caught her off guard. Maybe it was because of his business trip—was this that saying: absence makes the heart grow fonder?
But no. She wasn't really his Mrs. Fu. She was just pretending—yet here she was, doing everything a wife would do.
That thought filled her with shame.
She tried to push him away. "Careful not to overdo it…"
He chuckled, his breath warm against her neck. Beneath his silk pajama shirt was a body full of restrained strength. When he laughed, the rumble in his chest made her palm tingle.
"I'm not the only one with an appetite tonight."
Celia bit her lip and looked up at him with misty eyes.
At thirty, Nathaniel Fu was at his prime—successful, refined, and powerful. A man who had everything, including the freedom to love passionately. And now, he was using that power and charm to chase her, with the intensity of a man falling hard.
Her cheeks were flushed, her lips a soft red. She looked fragile yet cold, the kind of beauty that could undo even the most disciplined man.
"Say it," he whispered against her lips. "Call me 'husband.'"
He had been asking her again and again—soft, firm, teasing—all of it laced with desire.