Sofia's POV
Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
Three hundred and thirty-six hours of… this.
By "this," I mean living in a mansion with someone the government might technically classify as my husband but I personally classify as "a walking iceberg who happens to wear suits."
Khalid.
My so-called husband.
We don't even share a room. We don't even share air for longer than five minutes a day. He leaves before sunrise, like some vampire who's allergic to human interaction, and comes back when the moon is already bored of shining.
And the most suspicious part? I have no idea what he even does.
The man is the first son of the Voss family — yes, the Voss family, one of the wealthiest dynasties in the country — yet somehow, Zayn, his younger brother, is the golden child, the heir, the prince everyone bows to. Khalid? The shadow in the background.
You'd think being born into a wealthy family means you automatically get access to all the family tea. But no. Some secrets are locked so tight even the rich kids don't get the gossip. Whatever happened between Khalid and the rest of the Voss clan… it's apparently not my business.
Not yet.
Last week, I finished my final exams. My graduation is in a few weeks. Yay me, right? Except I still have to tell Khalid because, apparently, according to His Majesty's orders, I'm not allowed to leave the mansion "unless necessary."
What does that even mean? Necessary to him? Necessary to me? Necessary to the survival of humanity?
Anyway, tonight I decided I was going to talk to him. I waited until nine. No sign of him. Ten. Still no sign. By eleven, I was sprawled across the couch with a book, occasionally glancing at the clock like I was waiting for a cheating boyfriend to come home. I stretched, flipped channels, started watching a movie, then… fell asleep.
---
When I woke up, it was morning.
In my bed.
Hold up.
I remember falling asleep in the living room. Which means…
Did Khalid…?
No. No way. The Ice King himself would never carry me upstairs. The man probably thinks "basic human kindness" is a disease.
I dragged myself out of bed, brushed my teeth, and headed down the spiral staircase toward the dining room. The long table was empty, but a warm, sweet smell drifted from the kitchen.
Curiosity: 1. Self-control: 0.
I stepped inside and froze.
Khalid was there. Wearing an apron.
Cooking.
And looking… annoyingly hot while doing it. Like, how dare he?
The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, veins flexing on his forearms. His jaw was sharp enough to cut diamonds. His hair was slightly messy, probably from running his hand through it.
"Wow," I said without thinking. "The Ice King can cook? Do you also do birthday parties and bar mitzvahs?"
He looked up, one eyebrow raised. "Good morning to you too, wife."
Wife. The way he said it was half-tease, half-reminder, and all smug.
I crossed my arms. "Don't 'wife' me. This is the first time I've seen you in the kitchen. Are you lost? Should I call security?"
He turned back to the stove, completely unbothered. "Sit. Breakfast will be ready in five minutes."
"Wow. Commands before coffee. Love that for me."
"You don't even drink coffee."
I blinked. "How do you—?"
"I pay attention," he said, flipping something in the pan with infuriating calm.
I hated that my heart did a tiny, stupid flip at that. "Creepy."
"Observant."
"Creepy."
His lips twitched — not a smile, but dangerously close. "If I were creepy, you wouldn't be standing this close."
Oh, the audacity. I took a dramatic step back. "Better?"
"Much. Now I can actually breathe."
I scowled. "Rude."
"You asked."
The kitchen went quiet except for the soft sizzle from the pan. I should have left. I should have walked out and let him eat his mysterious hot-guy breakfast alone. But no, my legs stayed glued to the spot.
I watched him move around the kitchen like he owned it — which, technically, he did — and there was something so… infuriating about how competent he looked. Like he could run an empire and make perfect pancakes in the same hour.
"This is weird," I blurted.
"What is?"
"You. Cooking. In an apron. Being…" I waved a hand at him. "Normal."
"Do you prefer I stay a mystery?"
"Yes. No. I mean—ugh. Forget I said anything."
His eyes flickered with something I couldn't read. "Sit, Sofia."
"I told you, commands before breakfast—"
"Sit," he repeated, and somehow it didn't sound bossy, just… inevitable.
I sat.
He plated the food and set it in front of me. "Eat."
I stared at it. "You're not trying to poison me, right?"
"If I wanted to poison you, I wouldn't make it taste good first."
"Wow. Comforting."
His lips curved — a real smile this time, small but dangerous. "Eat, Sofia."
I picked up my fork, but my brain was still stuck on one thing: Khalid, apron, cooking, smiling.
And for the first time in two weeks, I wasn't entirely sure if I hated it.
Khalid in an apron was dangerous enough.
But the way he looked at me just then… it felt like breakfast wasn't the only thing he was planning to serve.