Handsome Husband and Abstinent Suitor

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.