The aroma of freshly cooked food filled the air, warm and inviting, wrapping the dining room in a comforting blanket of spice, heat, and something tender that even Liana couldn't name. Her fingers were slightly red from the stove's heat, her feet aching a little, but there was something so fulfilling in the way the table looked now—lined with all the dishes she had poured her heart into.
She turned slightly, nervously smoothing her apron, just as Nash stepped into the room.
He paused.
For a second, he didn't say a word—just looked.
His cold expression, the one she was used to, seemed to soften. He blinked once, then again, as if trying to believe what he was seeing.
"You made all this?" he finally asked, walking toward the table.
Liana simply nodded, her fingers tightening around the fabric at her side. "I thought you might be tired from work… so I made something for you."
Nash pulled out his chair and sat, glancing at each dish one by one—steamed dumplings, roasted meat with her signature glaze, soft flatbreads still warm from the pan, and a bowl of spicy lentils with freshly chopped coriander on top. He picked up his spoon slowly, like he was about to test something dangerous.
But the moment the first bite touched his mouth, something shifted.
"Liana…" he said quietly, looking at her with a flicker of something rare—surprise. "Your cooking is good. I didn't notice it before."
She blinked, stunned. Her heart did something strange, a little flutter, a soft quake she tried to mask with a quick smile. A faint blush rose up her cheeks, uninvited and warm.
In her mind, she whispered to herself:
Of course he never noticed before. He never really ate at home with his family—just grabbed whatever was on the table, scrolling through his phone like the food was just fuel to keep him working. Never looking up. Never tasting. But today… he's looking at me.
And just like that, something inside her loosened.
Maybe… maybe these two or three years of trying, of hoping, are finally paying off.
She dared to dream in that moment, even just a little. Perhaps we can now be the lovey-dovey couple I always dreamed of. Maybe this is the beginning…
"Why is your face so red?" Nash's voice interrupted her thoughts, his gaze narrowed on her. "Are you alright? You feeling okay?"
She snapped out of it instantly, forcing a tiny laugh. "I'm fine, just a little dizzy. Nothing serious."
That was all it took. Nash's chair scraped against the floor as he stood up with sudden urgency. He looked toward the corner, where one of the house maids was quietly standing at a distance, waiting in case she was needed.
"You," he called out sharply. "What's going on? She looks pale. Did she even eat today? What have you been doing all day?"
The maid rushed forward, trembling slightly. "S-sir, she—Miss Liana insisted on preparing the entire meal by herself. We tried to help but she—"
"It's not their fault," Liana said quickly, grabbing Nash's wrist to calm him. "I made them help me. I told them it was important to me. Please, don't scold them."
He looked down at her hand wrapped around his wrist, then slowly sighed, tension releasing from his shoulders.
"You should've eaten too," he murmured, the anger in his voice replaced with something gentler. "How will you get well if you don't eat properly?"
"I was waiting for you," she whispered.
He stared at her.
And then… he smiled.
It wasn't wide or dramatic, but it was there—a soft curve of his lips, barely visible, like sunlight slipping through half-drawn curtains. He pulled out the chair beside him and patted the seat.
"Sit beside me. I'll feed you today."
Liana froze. "N-No, you don't have to do that, I can eat by—"
But Nash leaned closer, and with one smooth motion, placed his index finger over her lips.
"Shhh…" he said, voice low and warm. "Be a good girl and eat. I'm in charge of you now."
She didn't know if it was his voice or the way he looked at her—confident, calm, commanding—but it melted her resistance. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she nodded slowly.