My husband, Logan Ridley, who I'd only married a few months ago, hadn't been home.

I couldn't remember his face, and he didn't recall my name.

It was like we were strangers in a marriage.

The neighbors thought I was single. I found a note on my Porsche Cayenne, which had been parked for months without being touched.

The handwriting was ornate and charming, with a touch of naive, youthful energy.

[Hey, rich lady, I live downstairs. I'm 6'3" with an eight-pack. Want to come to feel it? Here's my contact...]

I never thought I, Lailie Lance, would be hit on by a handsome guy, especially not after getting married!

I gave a chuckle and stuffed the note into my bag.

That night, with my domineering husband still absent, I was munching on chicken feet while rummaging through my bag for a tissue.

The note slipped out again.

"Six-foot-three… wow…"

"Eight-pack abs, so hot…" I was talking about the chicken feet being too hot.

"What are you looking at? What's so… hot?" A cool, detached voice came from behind.

I thought, Damn, Logan's back? He's like a ghost—sneaking around without a sound! Where do I hide the note?

I turned stiffly to face him, clutching the note like a squirrel hiding its food.

The man I married after just two meetings was strikingly handsome.

Standing at around six feet three, he wore a minimalist black shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist, with an open collar revealing chiseled collarbones.

Logan watched me with an unreadable expression, his eyes narrowing. "Have you forgotten about your husband already?"

"Um… how could I forget?"

I thought, Forget? I mean, I never remembered him.

Logan wore a smile as he leaned closer, forcing me to sit back on the sofa.

"So, what was it you said was hot?"

I was on the verge of tears.

"Pickled chicken feet!"

"Pickled chicken feet with an eight-pack? Hmm?" His cool voice rose slightly.

I looked up with tearful eyes, trying to sound earnest. "I was talking about you… Your eight-pack abs are super hot!"

I thought, Oh no, my new husband catches me trying to flirt with a guy downstairs—will he want a divorce tonight?

Logan's eyes twinkled with a hint of amusement. "Have you seen it?

"We haven't even consummated our marriage yet."

His voice lowered to a husky whisper as he said "consummate," making me blush furiously.

"Do you want to confirm for yourself if I have an eight-pack?" He whispered in my ear.

I thought, Is this really happening? He's my legal husband—my legal benefits!

Logan's smile deepened as his piercing, cold gaze seemed to draw me in.

One by one, he started unbuttoning his shirt.

As I stared, drooling and transfixed, he plucked the note from my hand.

What a scoundrel! He's using his good looks to deceive me!

I felt like a guilty student, head down, bracing for whatever Logan had in store.

The note was being crushed tighter in his hand, the veins on his hand becoming more prominent.

"I was just taking a look…

"I didn't plan on contacting him!"

Even I didn't believe that flimsy excuse.

Logan chuckled softly, a mix of coldness and barely concealed irritation.

"Lailie… a guy like that doesn't compare to me. We should schedule some time to fulfill our marital duties."

Logan lit a cigarette and, with a nonchalant air, burned the note to ash.

He then walked to the closet, picked out a pure black suit, and meticulously cleaned his gold-rimmed glasses.

The thin lenses reflected a cold, harsh light as if he was about to kill the man who had left the note.

He fastened his tie and muttered to himself, "Blood stains are hard to get out…"

Damn, he's like a suit-wearing hitman!

I slid over in a desperate lunge, wrapping my arms around Logan's lean, powerful waist from behind.

I pleaded, "Honey, I'm sorry!

"We're upstanding citizens. We can't go around killing people!

"And besides…" I nearly knocked Logan over with my impromptu hug. His well-built fingers braced against the mirror, making the scene look rather intimate.

Sorry, I was a writer. When I saw this, my professional instincts kicked in.

I finally snapped out of it and blurted, "I just got married. I don't want to be a widow already. If you kill someone, that's going to be some serious dirt on our future kids."

Logan's face darkened, and he stormed downstairs.

I huddled on the couch, shivering and clutching the corner of the blanket.

A few cries echoed through the house.

Those cries weren't from Logan's usual cold, deep voice, so they must have come from some unfortunate soul downstairs.

A moment later, the elevator doors opened with a ding.

Logan strode in, dragging something behind him. I took a quick glance, and my heart raced—it was a person!

Logan gave him a swift kick, then, with a practiced flick of his fingers, loosened his tie and said, "Apologize."

In my stunned silence, the man on the floor slowly rose to his feet, brushing off the blood at the corner of his mouth with a nonchalant air.

With striking red hair and three earrings in each ear, he looked more like a rebellious hunk than a cute boy.

His gaze was intense and unyielding. He drawled in a low, gravelly voice, "I'm Adonis Wynter, Logan's cousin.

"Nice to meet you. I hope I didn't scare you," he said, extending a hand covered in tattoos.

"Uh, no…" Out of politeness, I reached for his hand, but he pulled me closer.

"Everything I wrote on the note is true. Want to see for yourself? You're looking to have kids soon, right?" His rough, husky voice brushed against my eardrums, almost too intimate.

He received another brutal punch from Logan, who glared coldly and warned, "Stay away from her, Adonis. There won't be a next time."

Adonis crumpled to the ground with a careless grin; his invasive gaze still fixed on me.

I trembled slightly. As Logan dealt with Adonis and draped his black suit jacket over my shoulders, he asked, "Lailie, are you scared?"

Scared? Not at all!

I was shaking with excitement. The writer's blood was boiling within me—two male leads? This was pure gold for my writing.

Tonight, I was going to write ten thousand words!

Logan and I were a product of a family alliance—he was always busy, and our interactions had been limited to just two meetings.

He was the CEO of a publicly traded company, and I was from a wealthy family.

But who knew? In my private life, I was a writer, exploring every genre, with a particular fondness for multiple male leads.

Whether Logan came home or not was irrelevant to me. I had to keep updating my writing.

The situation didn't just fade away. My mom called.

"Adonis moved into your fancy neighborhood and got beaten up?"

"Uh, something like that—just a little misunderstanding," I said, thinking, He was just trying to flirt with me.

"A broken nose isn't just a little misunderstanding. I heard it was your husband who did it. Lailie, are you and Logan okay?" My mom, ever the poised lady, was cautiously probing.

It was almost funny—she was afraid I might get hurt too.

I had married Logan through a family alliance, so she couldn't interfere.

"Yeah, we're doing fine." The first night he came home, he found my note.

"Doing fine? What's that supposed to be? Lailie, if you get pregnant with a Ridley baby soon, it'll secure your spot as Mrs. Ridley. The Ridley family is worth billions, and many are eyeing it. Even his cousin isn't to be underestimated. Keep your distance…"

I kept up a stream of "uh-huhs" and promised my mom I'd get pregnant this year so she'd leave me alone.

How to get pregnant? Although I was a whirlwind in my writing, it was all just words on a page. In reality, whenever Logan came near, I was a mess—blushing and flustered.

He looked a hundred times more captivating in his suit, with his cold, restrained demeanor, compared to any male lead in my stories.

I started a new story using Logan as my model, and the views were skyrocketing.

I wrote: [The black suit pants hugged his long, powerful legs, while his white shirt, partially undone, revealing a chiseled chest. One hand held a string of beads, while the other…]

This time, I was smarter. At the sound of the door opening, I quickly closed the document.

When Logan got home, he didn't come to the room but continued working on his company data in the living room with his laptop.

I let out a sigh of relief and went back to my writing. A WhatsApp message popped up.

One of my biggest fans sent a voice note, "You're my only god. The new male lead is such a polished scoundrel! So hot! I heard there's a real-life inspiration. And I heard you're married now—could it be your husband?

"Anytime? That potent, huh?"

The clacking of keys in the living room stopped abruptly, leaving an awkward silence that felt like it was stretching to the ends of the earth.

I had forgotten to put on my headphones, so the message played out loud in the quiet, spacious house.

"... That potent?"

Logan, disturbed by my interruption, snapped his laptop shut with a sharp sound. His sculpted, cool profile turned to me, a half-smile playing on his lips that wasn't quite friendly.

I knew this was a sign of his irritation; Adonis downstairs had ended up in the hospital because of it and still wasn't out.

He stood up, loosened his tie, and rolled up his white shirt sleeves, revealing his well-defined arms from years of gym workouts.

His slim, toned legs were encased in tailored dress pants as he walked over to me, each step measured and deliberate.

For a moment, I was frozen, unsure whether to run or keep watching.

"Watching something, are we?" His voice was icy and teasing.

I felt my face flush red instantly. "Uh, just admiring your belt. It's very... big—I mean, stylish!"

"Care to try it out?" His voice dropped to a low, suggestive murmur as he peered at me over his glasses.

His wedding ring, a simple band on his long ring finger, glinted against the gray sheets as he placed his hand there. Suddenly, my mouth went dry, and the air felt like it was igniting with a subtle heat.

There was something missing from that hand, though.

It should have had a string of beads, clinking softly and mingling with the scent of sweat to give off a distinctive aroma.

Logan's fingers went to his belt buckle, and with a decisive "snap," he undid it.

Panicking, I covered my eyes. "Wait… I'm not ready yet."