Ethan's handsome face instantly turned frigid.

He clearly didn't buy it. His eyes locked on Carol like he was trying to catch her slipping, but all he saw was calm composure.

"If you don't want a divorce, fine," he said coldly. "But this marriage stays under wraps. I'm not making it public, and you're not walking around pretending to be part of the Mitchell family.

"I don't think we need to see each other again either." He paused, then added with a warning edge, "Also, handle your own mess. Don't bring trouble to the Mitchells. I won't be your cleanup crew."

Carol nodded right away, smiling sweetly. "Sure, whatever you say."

Who said she didn't get a good deal out of this?

She got rid of a jerk and scored a ridiculously good-looking husband. That's a win in her book.

Ethan didn't want to see her again? Fine by her-less stress.

But she doubted Grace would let that slide.

Sure enough, the next morning her phone rang.

Grace's tone was gentle, but firm. "Carol, move into Ethan's villa."

Carol tried faint resistance. "Mrs. Mitchell, but Ethan might not-"

"I've already spoken to him. Jack will come pick you up soon."

So, Carol packed the essentials and hopped into the Bentley, heading toward Ethan's villa nestled on the hillside.

The decor was just like a private clinic-minimalist, icy tones, sharp lines. It looked expensive, massive even, but completely lifeless. Cold enough to send chills through her bones.

Ethan was at the dining table eating breakfast. He looked even paler than yesterday, but still sat straight, eating with that calm, aloof elegance only he could pull off.

When he saw Carol walk in, he let out a cold snort, eyes full of sarcastic amusement. "Wow, you really know how to get what you want. Went straight for my mom, huh?"

Carol had expected that reaction. She raised her hands helplessly. "You're blaming me? If even you can't say no to your mom, how was I supposed to?

"I swear, I'll keep to myself. I won't do anything crazy."

Though honestly-

What a waste, having this face around and not doing anything "crazy."

If Grace really wanted a grandkid, well, she wouldn't say no to that.

With genes like theirs? The baby would be a showstopper.

Too bad.

Almost like he'd read her mind, Ethan set down his fork and knife, shooting her a chilly look. "Crazy stuff? Keep dreaming."

"Ahem!" Carol cleared her throat, trying to change the subject. "So, where am I staying?"

Jack chimed in right on cue. "Ms. Bennett, the guest room's all ready. I'll show you."

The room was top quality, everything top-brand. Fresh sheets, even some well-fitted clothes in the closet.

But even with all that, it still felt cold. Like a luxe hotel suite-stylish but detached. Fancy, but soulless. No warmth whatsoever.

When Carol finished unpacking and walked out, Ethan was already gone.

Jack reminded her, "Mr. Mitchell doesn't like strangers at home. The helpers are all part-timers-clean up and leave. Hope you won't bring guests here either, Ms. Bennett."

Carol nodded obediently, silently thinking to herself: isn't she the biggest stranger here?

Since she was going to be living here for a while - maybe even become a widow - Carol figured she couldn't just let the place stay so gloomy. No way she was spending her days in this cold, lifeless house.

So, she took a day off from work and called her go-to interior team to give the villa a serious makeover.

By the end of the day, she'd been on her feet non-stop.

She swapped out the heavy dark curtains in the living room for light beige sheers to let the sunshine in, tossed some pastel pillows on the couch, and set fresh fruit and flowers on the coffee table. In the study, she replaced the blackout curtains with brighter ones and put a leafy pothos in the corner. Even the dining table got dressed up with a checkered tablecloth.

Looking at the refreshed space, Carol clapped her hands in satisfaction.

Now this felt a bit more like home.

Just as she finished arranging the last vase of flowers, the front door opened.

Ethan was back.

He walked into the living room, saw the changes, and instantly his face darkened. "What the hell is all this?"

Carol turned around, unfazed. "This place had bad vibes. Not great for your health. You've been sick so long, you need sunlight. Keeping the curtains shut all day just messes with your mood. I helped you fix that. No need to thank me."

Ethan's eyes flicked toward the cushions and fresh blooms, wary. "What are you trying to pull?"

Carol tilted her head, casually honest. "Nothing really. I just don't want you to drop dead too early."

Whatever lecture he was about to deliver got stuck in his throat. He stared at her, his expression suddenly hard to read.

Right then, the oven timer beeped - dinner was ready.

Carol walked toward the kitchen, throwing back, "I made extra food. Just homey stuff, nothing fancy like the meals Jack brings from those five-star joints. If you don't mind, you're welcome to join."

She thought he'd brush it off or ignore her completely. But when she came out carrying a dish, he was still standing there, silent.

His eyes scanned the room. He still looked stony-faced, but the sharp anger from earlier had dulled a bit.

Thinking maybe he still hated the changes, Carol added, "Sorry, occupational hazard. I'm a designer - it's kind of second nature. If you really can't stand it, I'll have someone undo it tomorrow."

Though in her head she was muttering, Don't be the guy who bites the hand that feeds you.

Ethan paused for a beat, then grumbled, "Busybody."

Carol shrugged like she didn't care.

She thought he'd head upstairs, but to her surprise, Ethan pulled out a chair at the dining table and sat down.

Even Jack was caught off guard, his eyes going wide as he rushed over to quietly remind Carol of Ethan's long list of food restrictions - no onions, garlic, spicy stuff, this allergy, that sensitivity.

As Carol listened, it hit her - wait a second, she'd only made dinner for herself and maybe added enough for one more. Why did it now feel like she was cooking just for him?

Then she remembered – his mom had promised her a decent "widow's payout" even if she didn't get pregnant within two months.

Given Ethan's attitude, there was no chance he was gonna touch her. So, getting pregnant? That train had left the station.

In that case, setting an extra place at the table? Not a big deal.

She'd take that compensation money with a clear conscience.

Thinking about it that way, Carol didn't feel so against Jack's long list of dietary restrictions anymore. She mentally jotted them all down.

When Ethan sat down at the table, Jack figured there was no need to order from Golden Hearth today, so he quietly stepped out to make a call and rearrange things.

The vibe at the table was... a bit awkward.

Carol broke the silence, reaching for the serving fork as she glanced at the roasted chicken and vegetables in the center of the table.

"Ginger glaze. Makes the skin really crisp. Might be a little strong, though."

She carved off a tender slice from the breast, avoiding the heavily glazed skin, and laid it gently on Ethan's plate.

"I know ginger's not really your thing. This one's milder."

Ethan looked down at the chicken, then at Carol's quiet focus. His eyes darkened slightly, thoughtful.

Carol didn't seem to notice or care about his reaction and just started eating on her own.

She never wasted food and believed in finishing every meal. She dug in and polished off her plate in no time. By the time she looked up, she noticed just how refined Ethan looked while eating-moving slowly, gracefully, not making a single sound. Everything about him screamed meticulous elegance.

She couldn't help but clear her throat awkwardly and sat up straighter.

Ethan glanced at her and said flatly, "Trying to act proper now? Don't you think it's a bit late?"

Carol wasn't embarrassed at all. She grinned and replied casually, "You don't get it-gotta look a little put-together in front of someone I like. Who knows, maybe if I fake it long enough, you'll end up falling for me."

Ethan's eyebrows twitched. Her bluntness caught him off guard, and he set down his fork.

Carol blinked at his barely-touched plate. "That's all you're eating? You're done already?"

Ethan shot her a look and said, with a hidden meaning, "No appetite." Then stood up and headed upstairs to the study without another word.

Carol looked at the half-finished plate of chicken she'd gone out of her way to ginger-proof.

She muttered under her breath, "...Seriously?"

What a prideful guy.

Just then, Jack came back from his call. His eyes landed on Ethan's plate-and stopped.

The slice of roasted chicken was clearly touched. A bite or two gone.

Jack blinked, almost double-checking.

He remembered every single time Ethan turned up his nose at anything with ginger.

"Too harsh," he'd say. "Gets in the way of the actual flavor."

And now?

Carol caught his look and smiled. "All done with your call? Want to eat something with me?"

Jack quickly put on his usual blank expression and declined politely, "No thank you, Mrs. Mitchell."

"Pfft-"

Carol had just taken a sip of water and almost spit it out, coughing a bit after choking on it. She waved her hand awkwardly. "Whoa, first time I've heard someone call me 'Mrs. Mitchell,' not used to it at all."

Jack stayed stone-faced, tone neutral. "You'll get used to it, ma'am."

Carol just chuckled and started tidying up the table. Jack, standing off to the side, reminded her, "Mr. Mitchell doesn't eat leftovers."

So picky...

Carol rolled her eyes inwardly but smiled on the outside. "Relax. I'm keeping it for the stray cats and dogs, not for him."

Seriously, guy doesn't cook and still complains? Just be glad there's food at all.

Jack watched her move efficiently and hesitated for a second before speaking. "Ma'am, there's something I still don't quite understand. Mind if I ask?"

Carol, without looking up, kept tidying and replied casually, "You wanna know why I agreed to marry someone who's basically one foot in the grave, right?"

That bluntness almost bordered on rude, and Jack instinctively glanced upstairs, displeasure flickering in his eyes.

Carol straightened up, meeting his gaze with calm eyes. "I already said-it's to repay a favor. If it were for money-"

She pointed at her own striking face with a smirk. "Come on, with this level of beauty, you think I couldn't land myself in any rich guy's bed in Riverton? Why would I stick around a man who might, well, drop dead at any minute?"

Jack couldn't help casting a couple more glances her way.

The evening sun poured through the window, spilling soft light over Carol. Her skin was porcelain fair, her features delicate-yeah, she did have that unforgettable kind of charm.

Honestly, she wasn't totally exaggerating.

But still, looking at all the rich men in Riverton, who could beat the Mitchell family in wealth?

Then Jack remembered that document Carol had signed-waiving all rights to marital assets. She'd walked away from every possible benefit this marriage could bring her.

So what was she really after?

None of it made sense. Jack set the thought aside, offered a polite nod, and stepped out quietly.

At the stairwell, Ethan frowned slightly, his gaze falling away from the figure in the dining room below.

Repaying a favor?

Only kids would fall for that kind of fairy tale.

He'd already had Jack dig into their past-there was nothing. No connection, no life-saving heroics. Nothing.

...

Carol hated doing dishes, so she didn't bother. Anyway, the cleaner came by regularly. She married into this house to be a lady of leisure, not Ethan's personal maid.

With nothing else to do, she went back to her room, pulled out her drawing tablet, and got to work on a design project.

She was technically on leave, but the grind never stopped.

That upcoming bid deadline in two weeks? All riding on this proposal.

In the middle of sketching, her phone lit up with a flood of messages from Sophia.

[Babe!! How's it going? That scary demon man treating you okay?]

[Are you alive?? Say something or I'm calling the cops!!]

[*buff guy smile meme* Here, feast your eyes! Recharge with hotness!]

Carol let out a laugh and typed back:

[Alive and kicking. The villa's pretty nice. I cooked. He ate it. So far, so good.]

Sophia responded in a flash:

[!!! He actually ate your cooking?? Wasn't he supposed to be all twisted and cold-blooded? What happened to scaring off every poor blind date?? Carol, you're acting weird. He's acting even weirder!]

Carol: [I'm 87% sure he's been body-snatched. Or maybe I'm dreaming.]

Sophia: [Now that's more like it.]

They bantered a bit more before Carol finally put her phone down and returned to her drawing.

She was used to pulling all-nighters for work. By the time she looked up again, it was already late.

Stretching with a yawn, she climbed into bed, ready to knock out-when a faint cough cut through the silence from the room next door. It didn't stop, just kept going-soft, rasping, shaking, like someone was really trying to hold it in but couldn't.

One cough. Another. Like something caught deep in the throat, dragging itself out with painful persistence, ripping through quiet air.

Carol froze, eyes wide open.

Ethan.

She held her breath, straining to listen.

The coughing didn't let up. It was getting worse, more urgent.

She thought back to dinner earlier-how his face had that odd flush against an otherwise sickly pallor, his occasional gesture toward his chest.

"I'm not cleaning up your mess," he'd said coldly, sparing no kindness.

He'd made it clear he didn't want her around, didn't want her in his space.

The smart move now would be to pretend she heard nothing. Just go to sleep.

This was Ethan-he had doctors on speed dial, a world-class medical team. If anything serious happened, he'd press a button, and Jack or some surgeon would show up instantly. Didn't concern her, really.

Right. Pretend nothing happened.

Carol turned over and pulled the blanket over her head.

But the coughing-grating and unrelenting-clawed at her ears, hooked into her gut.

She remembered his pale, almost colorless hands, remembered how he sat back in that lounge chair earlier, sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains, making him look fragile and distant, like something breakable behind glass.

"Ugh." With a grumble, Carol pushed herself up and ruffled her hair in frustration.

She slid on her slippers, quietly got out of bed, and padded toward the door.

She grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and walked to Ethan's bedroom door, giving it a couple of knocks. "Ethan, you alright? I brought you some water."

The coughing inside stopped abruptly, and everything went dead quiet.

After a long pause, his voice came through the door, weak but sharp as ever, carrying a detached coldness. "No need. Go back to sleep."

Just from his tone, Carol could almost picture his expression-cold, distant, completely closed off.

She held the slightly heated glass in her hand and replied softly, "Okay.

"I'll leave then."

She wasn't the type to keep trying when clearly not welcome. She turned to leave but hesitated halfway, pausing, then leaning back toward the door with her ear pressed to it, still worried.

It was so quiet inside that it made her uneasy.

Suddenly, the door swung open from the inside.

Carol froze mid-action, awkwardly straightening up from her odd posture.

She met Ethan's deep, unreadable eyes. His gaze seemed darker than usual, probably because he'd just had a heavy coughing fit. A bit of moisture lingered in his eyes, making him look slightly more human.

"I'm not dying anytime soon," he said hoarsely, voice still cold and distant.

Carol held out the glass. "Still, have some warm water."

He gave her a look, brows furrowed ever so slightly, skeptical. "It's pointless. Warm water won't cure me."

"I know," she said casually. "But your throat must feel awful after all that coughing. A bit of warm water might help, you know?"

Ethan didn't take the glass, his tone laced with sarcasm, like always. "You had the chance to walk away, but you chose not to. So what's the point-pleasing a guy who might be on his deathbed won't get you anywhere."

His eyes scanned her face, as if trying hard to dig out even a hint of insincerity beneath her calm, almost annoyingly gentle gaze.

But all he found was quiet steadiness, and maybe... real concern?

Carol blinked, her tone light. "Well, everyone dies someday. But while we're alive, might as well not make it harder than it already is. I already got the water anyway-makes sense to try and feel at least a bit better, right?"

Ethan was taken aback, not expecting that response.

While he was still processing, Carol slid the cup into his slightly cold fingers, turned on her heel, and walked away with ease.

"Get some rest."

Ethan just stood there, staring down at the warm glass in his hand. The surface rippled slightly from the earlier movement.

A faint, unfamiliar scent lingered in the air-something gentle and warm, so out of place in this cold house. It was hers.

He stood there for a long time, so long that his legs started to go numb and that scratchy feeling in his chest began creeping back again.

Finally, his pale fingers gripped the glass a bit tighter.

The heat from the glass stung his cold skin slightly, a strange kind of sensation.

With the glass in hand, he turned around, walked back into the room, and shut the door behind him.

The hallway outside fell silent again.

Inside, he placed the glass on the bedside table. He didn't drink it.

He just sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard, eyes closed and brows slightly furrowed, lost in thoughts that wouldn't leave him alone.

The night was far from over.

...

The following days passed without a ripple.Carol worked her 9-to-5 and came home to make dinner.

Every time she thought about whipping up something spicy to treat herself, Jack's voice would echo in her mind, "Mr. Mitchell can't handle spicy food," and before she knew it, she'd end up cooking something bland again.

Over the phone, Sophia practically shouted, "You, of all people, living on spice, now suddenly eating bland food just for him?"

"Carol, be honest with me. Don't tell me you've fallen for him? Look, I get swooning over a good-looking guy, but he's seriously ill! Falling for him is like jumping into a pit!"

Carol rolled her eyes at the phone. "Falling in love isn't as simple as flipping a switch, okay? Plus, too much spice isn't great for skin either. Let's just say I'm trying to eat clean.

"He's good-looking, sure, but don't worry, he's not some prince charming in my book."

Sophia sounded half-desperate, "Just promise you won't catch feelings, alright? Do not fall for someone you shouldn't!"

Right after hanging up, Carol got a call from Jack letting her know Ethan had an evening engagement and wouldn't be home for dinner.

It was the first time since they got married he had dinner plans away from home, and Carol was a bit surprised.

She figured, hey, with him out of the house, it was finally spicy time. But turns out, bland was her new default-she'd already seasoned everything mild without even thinking.

She had just finished eating when she heard the door open-Ethan was back.

Seeing his gaze sweep over the spotless dining table, Carol explained, "Didn't you have dinner out? I didn't make anything for you."

Ethan just gave a low "Mm" and headed upstairs to his study without another word.

Carol didn't think much of it and went back to sketching her designs.

But later that night, when everything was quiet, a loud crash from the kitchen made her jump.

She opened the door and found Ethan collapsed on the floor. A shattered glass lay next to him.

Panicked, she called Jack and rushed him to the hospital.

After some checks, the doctor said it was a stomach issue. Guilt instantly washed over Carol.

Was it because she hadn't made dinner for him...?

Jack looked apologetic. "Sorry, ma'am. We were at Golden Hearth restaurant, and I thought Mr. Mitchell would eat something, but he didn't touch much.

"Maybe... he wanted to come back and eat your cooking."

Carol found that hard to believe. No way Ethan wanted to come home just to eat what she cooked.

If she were facing a stranger she couldn't kick out, she wouldn't want to come home either.

Still, guilt settled deep in her gut.

Before heading to work that morning, she packed up some homemade chicken soup and asked Jack to drop it off at the hospital. Luckily, Ethan's condition wasn't too serious, and he got discharged that same day.

But somehow, the word made it to the family estate before she even got off work. Grace Carter had already summoned her home.

Carol knew exactly what was coming and quietly prayed for mercy under her breath: Lord, please help me.

As expected, the moment she stepped into the estate, Grace greeted her with a frosty, "Carol, you're here."

Carol quickly put on a smile and took the lead, "Grace, it's my fault. I didn't take care of Ethan properly..."

Seeing her admit fault right away, Grace couldn't lash out too much, though her tone still carried subtle blame.

"Ethan's health isn't great; he needs more of your care. You two share a bed, don't you? How did he even collapse?"