Chapter 4 Whenever You're Ready

Mirabel's POV

The next morning, I woke up early, staring at the ceiling as reality settled in.

I was now Asher Black's wife.

Even though it was against my will.

Even though I hated him.

But he had promised not to hurt me, and I had no choice but to stay for five years. Maybe... just maybe, if I played my role as his wife, things would be easier.

With that thought in mind, I got up, took a long bath, and changed into a simple dress before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

The maids were already busy preparing breakfast, but I stopped them. "You can leave. I'll be the one to cook for Asher."

They exchanged shocked glances before one of them hesitantly spoke.

"Young master doesn't like other people preparing his food," she said cautiously.

I lifted my chin slightly. "I'm his wife."

The word felt strange on my tongue, unfamiliar and heavy, but I said it anyway.

The maids nodded quickly, murmured an apology, and hurried out, leaving me alone.

I took a deep breath and walked toward the fridge, pulling out the ingredients. I decided to make pasta and chicken, something simple but good enough to show I could handle myself in the kitchen.

As I cooked, my thoughts drifted.

Would this make any difference? Would acting like his wife truly change anything?

Or was I just fooling myself?

Pushing those thoughts aside, I finished the meal and set the table, making sure everything was perfect. I was about to go upstairs to call him when I heard footsteps approaching.

I turned around and saw Asher coming down the stairs.

His eyebrows lifted slightly when he saw me standing by the dining table, but he said nothing.

"Good morning," he greeted as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Good morning, Asher," I replied, my voice soft but firm.

He blinked in surprise, then a slow smile spread across his face.

I quickly served his food, then mine, and sat down across from him, watching as he picked up his fork and took a bite.

The moment the pasta touched his tongue, he closed his eyes for a second, chewing slowly.

My heart pounded. Was it bad? Did he hate it?

I nervously glanced at my plate, wondering if I had made a mistake.

Then, he opened his eyes and looked at me.

"You made this?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yes."

"You cooked for me?" he asked again, as if he couldn't believe it.

I swallowed. "I'm your wife, after all."

A smirk tugged at his lips, and he leaned back slightly in his chair.

"I like the fact that you know you're mine," he said, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine.

Then, he took another bite and nodded in approval.

"This is the best meal I've ever had," he added.

A warmth spread through my chest, and before I knew it, I was blushing.

His words caught me off guard.

I wasn't expecting him to praise my cooking, let alone call it the best meal he's ever had.

I lowered my gaze, suddenly feeling shy. Why was I reacting like this? This was Asher Black-the man I hated, the man who ruined my life. Yet, here I was, blushing because of a simple compliment.

"Eat," he said, his voice softer than usual.

I picked up my fork and took a bite, feeling his gaze on me the entire time. The tension between us was strange-not as hostile as before, but not comfortable either.

"You should cook for me more often," he added, breaking the silence.

I hesitated. "You have maids for that."

"I don't want them cooking for me anymore," he said firmly. "I want you to do it."

I glanced at him, confused. "Why?"

His eyes darkened slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. "Because you're my wife, and I want to eat my wife's cooking."

There it was again-him claiming me like I belonged to him. I clenched my fork but bit my tongue, deciding not to argue.

Instead, I focused on my food, ignoring the way he watched me, as if he was trying to read my mind.

After breakfast, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up. "I have a meeting to attend. I'll be back late."

I nodded, relieved that I wouldn't have to see him for the rest of the day.

As he reached the door, he stopped and turned back to me. "Mirabel."

I looked up. "Yes?"

His expression was unreadable. "Don't break anything out of anger again," he said, referring to what happened last night with the glass. "If you're upset, tell me. Don't hurt yourself."

I didn't know how to respond.

Was he actually concerned about me?

Before I could say anything, he walked out, leaving me with my thoughts.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair.

What was I supposed to do now?

Five years felt like an eternity, and I still didn't know how to survive in this house with Asher Black.

But one thing was certain-I needed to protect my heart.

Because the more I saw this other side of him, the more dangerous he became.

I spent the entire evening in the living room, watching movies to distract myself. The hours passed slowly, and as night fell, I got up to prepare dinner for Asher.

Even though I wasn't sure why I was doing it, a part of me wanted to wait for him before eating.

But he didn't come home.

I sat at the dining table, my head resting on my arms as sleep slowly took over.

A soft knock on the door startled me awake. I groggily checked the time-it was already past midnight.

With weak steps, I made my way to the door and opened it.

Asher walked in, his expression unreadable. But the first thing he said caught me off guard.

"I'm sorry... Were you waiting for me?" His voice was laced with guilt.

I nodded sleepily.

His brows furrowed slightly. "I had a meeting that ran late," he explained, almost as if he needed me to understand.

"It's okay," I murmured and turned to walk away, but before I could take another step, he pulled me into his arms.

His embrace was warm, firm, and... comforting?

"I missed you," he whispered against my hair.

I froze.

A part of me wanted to say I missed you too, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. Even if a small part of me did miss him.

After a few moments, he slowly pulled away and cupped my face, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

My gaze flickered to his lips-soft, inviting, and dangerously close.

"Do you want me?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

"Huh?" My breath hitched as my mind struggled to process his words.

"Can I get a kiss?"

I didn't even realize I had nodded until his lips crashed against mine.

At first, I stiffened, but then... I gave in.

I didn't want to ruin the moment.

His lips moved slowly, teasingly, igniting something deep within me. As the kiss deepened, he lifted me effortlessly and carried me to the couch, settling me beneath him.

His warmth, his scent, everything about him consumed me.

I could feel him losing control, and I wasn't far behind.

But then, he stopped.

He pulled back slightly, breathing heavily as his forehead rested against mine.

"I don't want to force you," he murmured, his voice thick with restraint. "We'll do this when you want it."

I swallowed hard and nodded shyly.

He chuckled softly and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Let's go eat," he said, gently pulling me up.

Without thinking, I slipped my hand into his, and to my surprise, he squeezed it lightly.

We walked to the dining table, hand in hand, as if we had always belonged together.