Naomi couldn’t quite believe what Zylan had said. She couldn’t—she just couldn’t. All she had prayed for was that the Chauffeur hadn’t heard.... She clung to that hope. But before she could dwell on it any longer, the car ca to a slow stop.
Zylan stepped out, reaching for her hand. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing hers in his. His grip was firm, warm, grounding—yet it sent an unexpected shiver through her. Without a word, he led her into the hotel.
As usual, the staff bowed, their movents precise and practiced, as if they had already been inford of his arrival. Naomi stole a glance at Zylan. His expression remained unreadable, his sharp features composed, as if such reverence was nothing out of the ordinary.
They bowed again when he entered the elevator.
Inside, Naomi’s gaze landed on a plate resting on a small table against the elevator wall. A silver cover concealed whatever lay beneath, but the sight of it sparked a thought. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides before she turned to him.
"I’d like to prepare a al. Would you like to join ?" she asked, breaking the silence.
Zylan turned to her, his piercing eyes widening slightly, as if her words had caught him off guard. Before he could respond, she quickly added, "It’s fine if you don’t want to."
She regretted the words imdiately. Why did she make it sound like she was expecting rejection?
But Zylan simply shook his head. "Yes, I will. I’d love to join you. Why wouldn’t I want to cook sothing nice with my sweet little wife?"
His voice carried an amused edge, but there was sothing else laced within it—sothing deeper. Naomi felt warmth spread through her chest, and despite herself, she smiled.
Just then, the elevator chid, and the doors slid open. They walked together toward their suite, and Zylan unlocked the door with his fingerprint.
As soon as the door clicked open, they stepped inside. Naomi let out a small breath before heading toward the wardrobe. She wanted to wear sothing comfortable while cooking.
She skimd through her clothes and pulled out a loose-fitting boubou gown that stopped just below her knees. Turning to Zylan, she handed him a pair of simple black PJ pants with a matching loose top.
"Change into this," she said.
Zylan took the clothes from her hands, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "Ordering around now, are we?"
Naomi rolled her eyes, fighting the warmth creeping up her neck. "You’re free to cook in a suit if you’d like."
He chuckled but didn’t argue. As he reached for the buttons on his shirt, Naomi realized—too late—that he was undressing right in front of her.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She quickly turned her head to the side, pretending to adjust the gown in her hands. Zylan’s deep chuckle filled the room.
"You should be used to this by now," he murmured.
"I’ll be changing mine," she muttered, hurrying toward the bathroom.
When she stepped out a few minutes later, she found him already dressed in the clothes she had picked for him. The simple outfit sohow made him look even more effortlessly attractive. A smile played on her lips.
They had co so far.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
Zylan nodded, and together they walked to the small kitchen area.
"Let’s wash our hands first," Naomi instructed.
She turned on the faucet, letting the cool water run over her hands before reaching for the soap. She scrubbed thoroughly, feeling the weight of Zylan’s gaze on her. When she glanced up, he was smirking.
Then, without a word, he stepped beside her and did the sa, washing his hands.
His presence was impossible to ignore. She tried not to focus on the way he moved, the way his broad shoulders slightly brushed against hers as he reached for the towel.
Zylan’s gaze flickered toward the aprons hanging nearby. He reached for one, stepping behind her.
"Let assist you," he murmured.
Naomi bit her lip as his hands worked at the apron’s strings, his movents slow, deliberate. She felt his breath near her ear, and for a mont, her fingers twitched at her sides.
Once hers was secure, she turned, reaching for his. "Let help," she murmured, tying it for him.
As she adjusted the knot, sothing in her chest tightened. It was such a simple act—just tying an apron—yet the intimacy of it made her heartbeat stutter.
Realizing where her thoughts were going, she quickly stepped away, tying her hair into a neat bun.
"Get the carrots and vegetables from the fridge," she instructed.
Zylan moved toward the refrigerator, his sharp eyes scanning the contents until he spotted them. He pulled them out and placed them on the counter.
"Can you wash them?" she asked.
Zylan smirked. "Of course. It’s easy."
Naomi arched a brow, suppressing the small pang of doubt. "Good. You wash the carrots, I’ll handle the vegetables. They need extra care."
Zylan nodded, turning on the faucet. He began rinsing the carrots with an air of confidence.
Within seconds, Naomi noticed the problem.
"Goodness, that’s not how you wash them," she sighed. "Let show you."
She stepped closer, demonstrating the proper way to clean them. But before she could finish, Zylan moved behind her, his tall fra looming over hers.
His hands slid over hers, following her movents.
Naomi froze.
His touch wasn’t forceful, but it was deliberate. The warmth of his chest pressed lightly against her back, his breath brushing the shell of her ear.
"My wife," Zylan murmured, his voice like silk. "Why did you stop washing them?"
Naomi swallowed, flustered. "Go ahead, you wash them. I’ll just—"
"No," Zylan interrupted smoothly, his voice low. "I can’t really wash them without your help. Assist ."
Naomi’s cheeks flushed. "You... Let’s not—"
Zylan bent slightly, his breath warm against her skin. "Let’s not what?" he whispered. "Wash the carrots? Or... are they already clean enough?"
His tone was soft, almost innocent, but Naomi knew better. He was fully aware of what he was doing.
From behind, Zylan moved closer, his breath warm against her skin. His lips brushed lightly against her ear as he whispered, "If I’m not washing them correctly, tell ."
Naomi stiffened, her grip on the counter tightening.
Zylan continued washing the carrots, his movents slow and deliberate. Then, as if testing her, he spoke again.
"Am I doing it perfectly? Perfectly."
His deep voice sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.
Naomi swallowed hard, willing her heartbeat to steady. But then—
"Ah, I forgot about my vegetables. Go on, keep doing your great work while I handle these."
A smirk curled on Zylan’s lips as he caught the way her ears flushed red. Amused, he finally moved away, heading toward another counter.
Naomi let out a shaky breath.
What was wrong with this man?
Her heart pounded wildly, and they hadn’t even started on the main ingredients yet. Sure, carrots were important, but at this rate, she wasn’t sure how long she’d last before her entire face exploded with heat.
Determined to focus, Naomi turned her attention to the vegetables, moving to the other counter to wash them.
"Is this good?" Zylan’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.
She turned, expecting to correct him, but to her surprise, he had washed the carrots perfectly—just as she had instructed. A small sense of pride swelled within her.
"Good," she said simply, nodding in approval.
Zylan stood there, waiting expectantly for his next task. His sharp eyes remained fixed on Naomi, as if awaiting further instructions.
She watched him for a mont, her lips curving slightly. There was sothing almost amusing about the way he stood—like a child who had just solved a difficult math problem and was eager for the next challenge.
Before she could stop herself, a giggle escaped.
Zylan’s brow arched. "Do you want to assist you with the vegetables?"
Naomi quickly shook her head. Absolutely not.
His lips curled into a smirk as he reached for the cucumbers.
"Do you like cucumbers?" he asked, his voice smooth.
Naomi nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah, I love them."
The smirk deepened.
"Then I’m sure you’ll love mine."
Naomi froze.
Heat rushed to her cheeks.
What is wrong with this man?!
Naomi’s head snapped toward him, her voice quiet but firm. "You... you should mind the kind of words you use, especially—"
Zylan leaned in, his gaze locked onto hers. "Especially what?" His smirk grew. "But you haven’t tried my cucumber before... and I promise you, it’ll be the best you’ve ever had."
Zylan observed her reaction calmly, a small smile playing on his lips. For so unknown reason, he enjoyed the way her lips parted in shock, her eyes widening in surprise at his words.
A slow grin spread across his face as he drank in her reactions, savoring every flicker of emotion that crossed her features.
Why does this man make things sound so...?
Oh.
Her cheeks flushed. As if that wasn’t enough, he added,
"You’ll try it the mont we get back ho."
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