A Secret Agreement

Standing in the heavy silence of the private dining room, Sloane looked up at Rowan's tense, expectant face. His dark eyes searched hers, waiting for an answer that would dictate their future. Slowly, a faint, genuine smile broke across her lips. She gave a gentle nod.

"I would love to give it a try," she declared softly, her voice steady in the quiet space. "I will not request a divorce unless you ask for it first, or cheat. How about that?"

Hearing her terms, Rowan's rigid posture instantly relaxed. The heavy anxiety rolling off his broad shoulders vanished, replaced by a broad, triumphant smile that spread across his handsome features. He leaned in, cupping her jaw, and pressed a tender, gentle kiss against her lips. It was a stark contrast to his earlier aggressive assault—this kiss was soft, promising, and full of immense relief.

As he moved to deepen the embrace, Sloane immediately stepped back. She raised a single finger, pressing it lightly against his chest to establish one absolute condition for their marriage to proceed.

"Wait," she requested firmly. "I need us to take things incredibly slow. And for now, we keep our marriage a strict secret from the public eye."

Rowan frowned slightly, his thumb grazing her cheek. "A secret?"

"I desperately need us to get to know each other intimately," she explained, holding his intense gaze. "We need to build a genuinely strong emotional foundation before allowing the relentless scrutiny of the outside world into our relationship. I cannot deal with the media right now."

Fully understanding her fears, Rowan nodded. He readily agreed to her terms without hesitation. "We do this your way," he promised.

He warmly led her toward the massive dining table situated by the floor-to-ceiling window. They sat down comfortably, the lingering tension between them finally gone. Rowan waved a waiter into the room and ordered a lavish meal, making sure to specifically request her favorite dish, pickled fish.

Waiters promptly brought their steaming food, filling the private room with mouthwatering aromas. Rowan picked up his utensils, breaking the comfortable, domestic silence.

"So," he began, serving her a portion of fish. "Exactly how long will you be away on this upcoming filming trip?"

Sloane accepted the food, her appetite returning in full force. "The shoot shouldn't take more than three weeks. If the production schedule goes exactly as planned, I might be back in just two." She paused, feeling a sudden surge of playful confidence. She batted her eyelashes, looking up at him coquettishly. "Why, will you miss me?"

The moment the words left her mouth, intense embarrassment flooded her system. Heat rushed straight to her cheeks. She immediately dropped her gaze and buried her blushing face deep into her bowl of braised pork ribs, utterly unsure of how the aloof billionaire would respond to her sudden teasing.

Rowan chuckled. It was a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated across the wide table. He genuinely liked his wife's unexpectedly playful nature.

"I will indeed miss you," he admitted with unwavering certainty. He leaned back in his leather chair, swirling his drink. "Which is why I have decided to personally accompany you everywhere until the exact moment you take off. I want to spend every single remaining minute by your side."

After clearing their plates, the couple left the upscale hotel. Rowan drove them straight to Sloane's modest apartment on the other side of town. Together, they navigated her small bedroom, meticulously packing her clothes. She wasn't just preparing her luggage for the upcoming film shoot; she was permanently packing all her everyday belongings. By zipping up those large suitcases, she officially committed to moving into his residence and embracing the reality of their marriage.

Rowan loaded her heavy bags into the trunk, driving them back toward his heavily secured, premium coastal community. They pulled up to his sprawling, elegantly furnished ocean-view villa. The grand architecture stood proud against the dark evening sky.

Since Sloane had been heavily intoxicated during her first late-night visit, she took this precious opportunity to give herself a proper, sober tour of her massive new home. She wandered through the expansive hallways, admiring the sleek, modern art and the breathtaking view of the dark ocean crashing against the shore. Rowan gave her space, allowing her to adjust to her new reality at her own pace.

After taking a long, refreshing shower to wash away the exhausting drama of the day, Sloane walked down to the living room wrapped in comfortable loungewear. Rowan was already there, freshly showered and dressed in casual dark sweatpants.

They settled together on the plush living room couch. The atmosphere felt incredibly natural. They fell into a deep, comfortable conversation, catching up on the intricacies of their respective careers and personal lives. There was not a single hint of the awkwardness usually found between two strangers forced into a sudden union.

Sloane tucked her legs beneath her, staring at her hands. The safe environment made her want to share more. Just as she finally gathered the courage to open up about her deeply complicated family problems and the heavy burdens she carried, her stomach interrupted.

A loud, ungraceful grumble echoed through the quiet living room.

Sloane froze, her cheeks burning for the second time that evening. The lavish meal at the hotel felt like a lifetime ago. Rowan raised a thick eyebrow, a teasing glint flashing in his dark eyes.

Fully expecting a wealthy bachelor like Rowan to have a barren kitchen, she waved him off. "I will handle it," she offered, heading over to the sprawling culinary space with the humble intention of boiling some instant noodles.

Instead, she pulled open the massive, state-of-the-art refrigerator and froze in pleasant shock. The shelves were fully stocked with fresh, premium groceries. Vibrant vegetables, premium cuts of meat, and an array of expensive sauces lined the immaculate interior.

Eager to make a fantastic impression on her new husband, Sloane decided to scrap the noodles. She rolled up her sleeves and got straight to work, preparing a proper, home-cooked dinner. Moving efficiently around the massive marble island, she skillfully whipped up a rich, fragrant chicken soup. She popped a tray of perfectly honey-glazed chicken wings into the oven and began folding a large batch of handmade dumplings.

From his spot in the lounge, Rowan sat with his laptop resting on his knees. He pretended to type diligently, pressing a few random keys, but his dark eyes remained fixated on the small, beautiful woman bustling around his kitchen. The warm lighting cast a soft glow over her delicate features as she hummed a quiet tune, checking the simmering broth.

A profound, unfamiliar warmth aggressively swelled in his chest. Watching her move through his space, he realized that bringing her back was the best decision of his life. For years, this massive building had just been a cold bachelor's house—a place to sleep between endless corporate battles. Now, someone else shared it with him. The rich scent of home-cooked food and her gentle presence transformed the sterile environment. It was officially a home.

Sloane soon carried the steaming dishes out, setting the dining table with a bright, proud smile.

"All done," she announced, inviting him to dig in.

Rowan closed his laptop and joined her at the wide table. He picked up a silver fork, taking his first bite of the glazed wings. The sweet and savory flavors melted on his tongue. He nodded enthusiastically, reaching for a hot dumpling next.

"Your cooking skills are top-notch," he praised genuinely, devouring another piece. He let out a soft, self-deprecating sigh. "I am afraid to ever cook for you now. My skills are merely standard compared to this."

Sloane beamed, feeling a rush of warm pride at his validation. She rested her chin in her hands, watching him eat. "I taught myself how to cook with a specific hope in mind," she revealed, her tone softening with romantic nostalgia. "I always hoped that one day I would be able to cook for my future husband." She winked at him playfully. "Consider yourself incredibly lucky, Rowan. You are the very first male to ever taste my food."

Hearing this, Rowan laughed out loud. The rich sound filled the dining room. But as his laughter faded, his underlying tone turned fiercely and playfully possessive. His dark eyes locked onto hers, burning with an intense heat.

"I am indeed lucky," he declared, his voice dropping an octave. He reached across the table, his large hand covering her small one. "I promise to treasure you forever. But let us get one thing straight."

Sloane blinked, feeling her pulse jump at the sudden intensity in his gaze.

"As the only man to taste your food," he issued a strict, jealous mandate, squeezing her fingers gently. "You are forbidden from ever cooking for any other man besides me."

Sloane giggled at his sudden dominant streak, the sound light and musical. She squeezed his hand back, not intimidated by his possessive flare.

"Relax, you jealous tyrant," she assured him, a wide smile on her face. "I will listen to your mandate. Mostly because I am incredibly lazy and hardly ever cook anyway."