Married To A Powerful Domineering Billionaire

THE FAMILIAR SMELL OF RAMEN

ERIC’s POVCcontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

“A few days before they were killed, I overheard them making plans. They wanted us to move from the house. It was supposed to be one of their surprises for my upcoming birthday, but I found out even before.” She said and then let out a sad chortle. “It would have been the best day of my life because even though I had overheard them, my curiosity hadn’t stilled for once. I was excited to move from the neighborhood. Also, mom used to always make me Ramen with lots of spicy kimchi since we were Korean.”

How didn’t I know that? I wondered to myself. How did her file not say anything about her real nationality? But, now that she said it, I couldn’t help but notice the similarities in the looks.

“I miss having mom’s special Ramen, she used to make the best of it.” She said and leaned into my shoulder. Noticing that, I stilled for a moment. She had just put her head on my shoulder. Was it happening? Are we bonding now? “And, I miss coming home to the smell of boiling rice.”

I patted her head gently as I listened to her list the things she missed. But her sudden question made me freeze for a few minutes.

“Do you have any memories you cherish so much, or any sad ones?”

My hand on her head stopped working for a few minutes. I couldn’t tell her any of my problems, they were too great, and evil and I didn’t and couldn’t afford her worrying about me. Plus, she was grieving, and I didn’t want to interrupt her with my own issues.

“No, I don’t,” I answered.

*Why?” She asked as if I needed a reason to not have memories I needed to share. I dragged in a deep breath, then resumed patting her hair.

“Men don’t have sad memories.”

“Does that mean they’re always happy?” She asked.

“No, we get sad as well, but we just don’t keep our sad memories. We have our way of navigating through life. We don’t let ourselves get outweighed by pain.”

“Hmm,” she muttered. “So that means you don’t have sad Memories right now?” She asked and I nodded.

“But everyone has sad memories, like me, I have the memories of my classmates laughing at me every day in school. But, it’s fine if you don’t want to share your sad memories, it’s okay, I don’t want you to feel sad after recalling them.” She said and I looked down at her with a smile.

“So, how about your happy memories, do you have any?”  She asked.

For a moment, I tried racking my mind for any pleasant memories, but then I realized there were none. It had been work, business meetings, and all that about me earlier. But until she came along many nights ago. How a petite stranger had turned me into this, all out, kinda marveled at him.

“The only pleasant memories I have are of you, my wife,” I answered.

She looked up at me, “Me?” She asked and I nodded, gently putting her head back down on my shoulder as it was already aching without her.

“Let’s stay like this for a while.”

RAYNE’S POV

I woke up to bright sunlight penetrating through the glass walls. It felt good waking up on my own and that too, to myself. It was peacefully around here, not that it wasn’t over in Los Angeles, but it felt natural and refreshing here in the glass house. I knew it was because of the environment in which the house was built.

PARIS!

The thought that I was finally in my dream city felt like a dream, a dream Eric had fulfilled.  He had even taken me to see the nightlife. The thought made my heart flutter. Then I recalled all of last night’s events. Feeding him ice cream and crying on his shoulder. I felt my cheeks burn. Just as he had said last night, I could barely feel any pain in my heart. I still missed my parents, but my heart was much settled now knowing they were in a much better place.

Now, talk of Eric, where was he? I thought to myself as I got down from the bed despite me not wanting to. The bed was big, sift and so comfortable against my mike skin. I got into a pair of white slippers by the side of the bed. I assessed myself in the mirror before heading downstairs, silently hoping he hadn’t left already to take care of some business. But why was I hoping, and why did I suddenly feel so enthusiastic about seeing him?

As I descended the grand stairway, I tried to follow a calm pace, but instead, I found myself jumping the stair blocks. I soon found myself halting at the familiar smell. I could tell what it was any day and at any time.

Ramen!

I followed the smell, hurrying down the stairs now. I took a turn to what I assumed to be the kitchen, and there, in the vast kitchen, across the long counter was Eric. He had an apron tied around his waist. On the kitchen counter were vegetables and Ingredients neatly arranged on one side of the table.

I watched him stir the pot on the stove expertly like a born Chef. Then he washed the vegetables under running water and put them on the chopping board. His brows furrowed and his expression turned serious as he sliced through carefully, one at a time, focusing with rapt attention on the vegetables he was slicing. He glanced up from the board and our eyes met.

“Good morning,” I said, hurrying into the kitchen.

“Good morning, wife.” He said and smirked at me. “I’m making you Ramen, just how you like it, with lots of kimchi.”

Hearing those familiar words, I felt something knot in my stomach. I had said them yesterday, and here he was making them for me.