Tác Giả: Tiêu Hàm Tử

Tống Vy Vy, now Mrs. Thẩm Gia Hạo, stood in the opulent kitchen of their Shanghai penthouse, her apron speckled with flour as she wrestled with a bowl of sticky dough. The city skyline twinkled through floor-to-ceiling windows, a dazzling backdrop to her endearing chaos. Six months had passed since their lavish wedding, and Vy Vy was still grappling with her new role as the wife of Thẩm Gia Hạo, Shanghai’s most formidable CEO. The unassuming barista from Dreamlight Café was gone; in her place was a woman navigating a world of extravagance, paparazzi scrutiny, and a husband whose love was as intense as his possessiveness.

She huffed, blowing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Why is this dough so sticky?” she muttered, prodding the gooey mess. Tonight, she wanted to surprise Gia Hạo with homemade dumplings, a nostalgic nod to their first date when he’d teased her about her clumsy chopstick skills. But cooking proved more daunting than expected, and the kitchen resembled a flour-dusted battlefield.

The penthouse door clicked open, and Vy Vy’s heart skipped a beat. Thẩm Gia Hạo strode in, his black suit pristine despite a grueling day at Thẩm Corporation. His piercing eyes softened as they landed on her, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Vy Vy,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “are you trying to redecorate my kitchen or just demolish it?”

She spun around, flour smudged on her cheek, hands planted on her hips. “Your kitchen? Excuse me, Mr. Thẩm, this is our kitchen, and I’m making dumplings for you!” Her pout was defiant, but her cheeks flushed under his gaze, a familiar warmth spreading through her body.

He stepped closer, loosening his tie, his eyes roaming over her. The apron hugged her curves, accentuating her full breasts and slim waist, and the sight made his throat bob. “Dumplings, huh?” he murmured, stopping mere inches away, his cologne—sandalwood and mint—enveloping her like an invisible embrace. “I’d rather eat you.” His fingers brushed her cheek, wiping away the flour, and the touch sent a shiver down her spine, her pulse quickening.

“Gia Hạo!” she squeaked, swatting his hand, though her giggle betrayed her. “Behave! I’m trying to be a good wife here!” But his eyes twinkled with mischief, and he leaned in, lips grazing her ear.

“Good wife? Vy Vy, you’re already perfect,” he whispered, his voice husky with allure. “But if you want to play domestic, I know more exciting ways.” His hand slid to her waist, pulling her against him, and she gasped, feeling the hard planes of his body through the thin apron.

She stepped back, brandishing a flour-dusted spoon in mock threat. “No distracting me! Go shower, or no dumplings for you!” He laughed, a deep, resonant sound, raising his hands in surrender, but his eyes promised trouble later. As he headed to the bedroom, Vy Vy’s heart raced, a blend of love and anticipation. Marriage hadn’t dimmed their spark—it had only made it burn brighter.