My arranged husband overheard me chatting with my best friend about chicken breast. "The breast I ate last night was huge and tender, melted right in my mouth." Ethan Sterling looked appalled. "How long have you been involved with this kind of stuff?" "Huh? Three times a week." His usually cold and composed features crumbled, as if he'd made a difficult decision. "Tonight, I'll treat you. Don't go outside, it's unsanitary." When I came home hungry, the dining table was empty. "Where's the meat?" His ears turned bright red as he slowly lay down on the table. 1 The sound of the shower stopped. I immediately sat up straight and opened my phone to chat with my best friend, Chloe, to ease my nerves. Even after seven years of arranged marriage, I was still afraid of Ethan Sterling. He was too calm, too ruthless, and strictly adhered to rules in everything. Even our "marital duties" were limited to exactly two hours, not a second more. When Ethan walked in, his pajamas were buttoned to the top. He indifferently turned off the lights. "It's ten o'clock. Sleep time." I accidentally hit the speakerphone button, and Chloe's voice blared out: "Was the breast last night huge? Was it tender? Was it delicious?" Under Ethan's gaze, I whispered back. "Very huge, very tender, delicious. Let's eat together next time. Goodnight for now." After hanging up, I sat on the edge of the bed, but Ethan sat up straight, his back rigid. It was past ten; usually, he would be asleep by now. The air was suffocating. After a long stalemate, Ethan looked straight at me. "How long have you been involved with this kind of stuff?" Chloe had recently started fitness training and learning to cook chicken breast. Whenever Ethan was busy, she invited me over. I carefully chose my words: "We only started recently when you weren't home. Just three times a week." "...Where does it happen?" "Her place, or outside, sometimes—" I glanced at Ethan. His face was in shadow, his expression unreadable. "We've tried it at home too." "But don't worry! I cleaned up all the traces and smells. It won't affect your work or rest." "I'm sorry, do you mind?" His breathing deepened slightly, his chest rising and falling. "You are the wife of the Sterling heir. This kind of thing is a major taboo." I was dumbfounded, opening my mouth but unable to speak. What taboo could there be about eating chicken breast? Thinking about it, the Sterlings were a wealthy family, used to delicacies like lobster and abalone. Cheap chicken breast probably wouldn't make the cut for the Sterling family. Just like me. When I first married Ethan, I endured plenty of eye rolls. Everyone thought I wasn't worthy. I was like chicken breast—bland, cheap, and pale. Ethan was waiting for my response. With a breath held in my chest, I replied stiffly. "Fine, I'll eat it secretly from now on, okay? It's just..." a piece of chicken breast. "Sarah, you're really addicted." My husband interrupted me coldly. He lay down under the covers, leaving me only a rigid back. It was a double bed, but we each had our own duvet, strictly separate. I looked up, blinking hard to hold back tears. Whatever, if he wants a divorce, let him! I must eat meat. 2 After starting the cold war with Ethan, I got insomnia. I secretly picked up my phone, dimming the screen to the lowest setting. I started searching for ways to eat chicken breast. But the screen filled with images of human chests—dry, moist, all kinds. One picture made me pause. This chest looked very similar to Ethan's silhouette. The curves and blocks, the feeling of muscle wrapped under skin when tensed, like hot iron. My ears burned. I hadn't touched the screen for too long, and it went black. In the darkness, my husband's expressionless face was reflected. ... His eyes were staring closely at me, like a dead pool. I trembled and immediately looked back. I found Ethan still with his back to me, breathing rhythmically in sleep. Scaring myself. I saved the picture that looked like Ethan, curled up into a ball, and fell asleep. In a daze, someone stretched out my limbs. My forehead seemed to rest on something hard yet soft. I burrowed towards the heat source but was blocked. His breathing was heavy, landing by my ear, ticklish. My hand struggled blindly and landed on something. I squeezed it. A stress ball? I slept deeper. In my dream, a chef brought out two pieces of chicken breast, the meat fresh and beautiful, large but not greasy. I bit right into it, but the texture was so dry. "Return it! What is this? Chewy as an old man's ancient rag, tastes terrible. You sell this? I wouldn't take it for free." I rolled over, spitting in anger. Vaguely, I heard someone stumbling on the floor. The sound of water came from the bathroom again. 3 When I woke up again, daylight filled the room. Ethan's spot was already empty, the quilt folded neatly with sharp corners, not a single wrinkle. Just like Ethan, and just like his feelings for me. Seven years, it should have turned into a stagnant pool long ago. I sat in the empty room, quietly dazing. Suddenly I realized my lips hurt a little. And my hands. It seemed I had grabbed something hard, squeezing all night; my ten fingers were sore. Looking closely, there were no injuries. Before I could think more, I received a call from Chloe. "Sarah, I saw your husband at the gym with someone else. What's going on?" When I arrived, Chloe made a shushing gesture, pointing to a private training room. Ethan was in a suit, perfectly fitted, looking out of place next to the sporty instructor. That suit was the one I gave him last time for our anniversary. Chloe complained: "There are tons of male coaches at the gym, but he insisted on a female coach with good aesthetics. "Look, he won't even change clothes. He just asks the coach to do movements and stares at her. "Does he... have a problem? "Is your relationship with Ethan still that dead?" Ours was an arranged marriage. He needed a wife; I liked his face and body. That was all. Even strangers, living together for seven years, facing a 6'3" man with pale skin, lean muscles, an eight-pack, and sculpted features every day... Love grows easily. I stopped in front of the one-way mirror and saw Ethan sitting on a chair, his gaze fixed, watching the coach stretch her arms. In the past, during those two hours, Ethan was like this too—like solving a math problem, step by step seriously. Meticulous, all technique, probably no emotion. In the gym, his gaze was focused, taking photos occasionally and making notes on his phone. Sometimes frowning, sometimes smiling. Probably... appreciation? After finishing, the private coach panted, walked closer to Ethan, and smiled up at him. Reading her lips, she was saying: "Is this chest shape good? "If you need reference photos, you can keep asking me. "Don't be shy. If you're a real man, be direct! Women like directness." I wanted to rush in and question Ethan. Ask him, why not look at mine? Because I'm not big enough? Is small not okay?! But as he prepared to step out of the gym, I hid around the corner again, my heart shrinking in pain. 4 I have my pride too. If he wants to look, he should look at mine. Anyway, it's just an arranged marriage. I already have endless money to spend. Whether there's love or not doesn't matter. But I still waited for the coach to come out, wanting to ask clearly. After waiting for a long time, someone else came out. I asked a male coach: "What program did the gentleman in the suit just sign up for?" He looked me up and down and smiled: "Men, they're all here to look at beauties. "Amy has the best chest shape among the women here. Who doesn't like it?" I forced a smile and was stuffed with a gym card by him. "Beautiful lady, call me if you need. I'm the biggest here, guaranteed satisfaction." Unable to find a trash can outside, I casually put it in my pocket. Just as I stepped out, Ethan was waiting by the side, staring into space, seemingly having waited for a long time. "Sarah, it really is you. What are you doing here?" "Nothing, looking for Chloe. She invited me to eat tonight..." He rubbed his brow, leaned in close, and interrupted coldly. "You really can't touch that stuff anymore. "Quit early." My anger flared up instantly. I mimicked his cold sneer and pushed his chest. "I insist on it. So what?" Ethan seemed hurt, frowned, and gasped softly. He seemed to make a decision. "Fine, I'll let you eat. Don't go outside." Because he was violating the Sterling family's ancestral rules, veins popped on Ethan's forehead, seemingly enduring with great effort. I've always been soft to persuasion but not coercion, so I softened my tone too. "It's okay, no need to trouble you. I'm not used to yours anyway. "Outside is actually tastier." Ethan's cooking skills were average, not comparable to Chloe or chefs outside. I just told the truth, but Ethan's face darkened, and he turned to leave. The next second, the driver waiting by the road poked his head out. "Madam, Mr. Sterling said he wants to walk. Please take the car first." As the car passed Ethan, he walked on the commercial street with his long legs, attracting side glances. He seemed really angry; he didn't even look my way once. He walked faster than the car. I couldn't help laughing and sent a message to Ethan. 【Hubby, then I'll eat yours tonight, okay?】
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