Just A Year

CHAPTER TWO: Another Side

Rhys' POV

I felt so unsettled that I had to abuse the power that came with my newfound wealth. No wonder rich people broke rules. It came with a certain spirit.

I booked an urgent flight to return as early as seven or eight the following morning. As I'd heard, billionaires took their time to nap.

My reason for travelling was resolved, at least. Grandma had fainted because of low blood sugar, especially since she barely ate.

"Eat more, Grandma. Eat all you want. Your grandson is rich now." I could remember telling her that, and it made me smile.

At the door, I met my bride coming out.

“Where were you?” she asked. I was surprised she cared. “Not like I care. I just want to know what to tell my parents about you,” she added, as if she'd heard my thoughts.

“I thought you would still be sleeping. I'm sorry. I had to handle something urgently,” I apologized.

“Sleep like the poor? Wealthy people are busy. Eyes sharpened like foxes, always chasing money.”She emphasized every word before walking away.

I wasn't going to take that as an insult.

I'd already promised Grandma that I was rich. I made to resume my own work for the day, too. I cleaned and arranged the house. Her room was a mess, even though I'd arranged it before she came in yesterday. Didn't she know how to organize things, or did she simply dislike organizing things?

Life of the rich.

I was making her bed when I saw a little book lying on it. I really wanted to peek into it, but I did because it was already open.

Dear Diary...

Oh my God.

It was her diary.

I tried to stop reading, but curiosity got the better of me.

...I'm going on a date today with Ethan Marshall. I'll tell you how it went when I get back.

She was going on a date dressed like that? My brain retraced her outfit. She had been dressed corporately, not in one of those fancy date gowns.

She was really weird. Perhaps extremely cold-hearted.

After arranging the whole house, I decided to cook and bake as many recipes as I could. Who knew how she would react if the date was a disaster? I couldn't risk my job. With everything done, I got bored and a crazy idea came to my head.

Truly, an idle mind is the devil's workshop. I decided to search for Ethan Marshall.He was boring. Just the usual billionaire-guy descriptions about how he had so many girls chasing after him.

I skipped my search and searched for my bride instead.

From the stickers on the walls of her room and, most importantly, our court wedding yesterday, I had gotten to know her name.

Lena Reed.

She was currently twenty-three and the only child of Mr. and Mrs. Reed. She had studied law at Highest Tier University and graduated with first-class honors—the best student of her set.

If those were truly her achievements, I had to admit I was impressed. Well, if they were the result of her family's influence...What could I say?

Finally, I arrived at the junction of her scandal and the possible reason she had sought me out. There was a case involving a billionaire and a plumber. The billionaire claimed that the plumber had stolen his Sea Island cotton towel, but the plumber strongly denied it.

Lena had handled the ruling, and in the process, she had said: “You are likely guilty, especially since you are poor.”

The rich always swept scandals easily under their carpets, but a lot of netizens took Lena's case personally, as if they had been waiting for a reason to turn against her. She had even been suspended until further notice.

Furthermore, there was our marriage news.The supposedly proud chaebol heiress now had a poor and faceless lover by her side. They even got married, the news reported.

“Lover...” I muttered and smirked. "I will die that day". I mimicked Mrs. Reed's threatening voice.

“Get me a wine!” A loud voice came from outside. The madam was home.

“What flavour, my lady?” I asked.

“Why are you so dumb? What kind of contract husband is this? My goodness!”

She flared up and got the drink herself.

“I wanted to chill myself, and you're still asking me questions?” She found fault with me as usual. It was as if she deliberately avoided feeling anything good about me. “Get me a cup, and you could go ahead asking me whether it's silver or gold,” she jeered.

I grabbed a silver cup for her.

“Like I expected... the lesser quality, just like you,” she blurted. She took a cup of wine and went inside her room.

Did they break her heart, or did she simply decide to make this one year miserable for me? My phone rang.

It was her number.

“I'm hungry,” she said and hung up.

I quickly heated up five different delicacies for her to pick from. She hit her forehead with her palm when I presented the delicacies before her.

“I said I'm hungry, not that I wanted to enter a food-picking contest,” she said.

“I didn't know your—”

She cut me off.

“How will you know? You are so woman-dumb.” She picked up the red velvet cake. I ignored everything and picked up one thing. She wasn't really a fan of proper meals. She preferred snacks, so I had to master baking.

“You should start a bakery class so you don't poison me,” she said. “Get out now.”

She dismissed me. I walked away.

Apparently, being a contract husband came with more rules than the contract had mentioned.

Repeating my mistakes was a no-no.

I woke up as early as 4 a.m. the following day, prepared several pastries, and waited for my queen to wake up.

That was the most suitable name for her now. The time passed—8, 9, then 10—but she hadn't come out of her room or made an order.

I had to knock and go in. She didn't even respond to my knock. She was shivering on her bed, wrapped in a heavy duvet, even though the air conditioner wasn't on.

“What is wrong, my queen?” I asked.

“Lame question,” she said, as expected.

I checked her temperature and diagnosed a fever.

Poor, as she called me, but apparently talented enough to recognize an illness without necessarily visiting a hospital.

I figured it was because of the date yesterday, but I didn't want to ask her and make it seem like I was invading her privacy.

I quickly prepared some herbs the way Grandma used to make them. “I see you really want to kill me. Call my doctor, empty brain,” she said.

“This works better, but I'll call,” I said and picked up her phone to call her doctor.

“Or wait...” she said.

I paused halfway through dialing. She gulped down the herbal mixture in one go, and I wondered what had made her reconsider. Just like anyone taking bitter medicine, her face squeezed from the taste.

Then, to my horror, she vomited everything. Bad enough—it landed on me. I was a servant, nanny and husband all at once, so I carefully patted her back and cleaned up the mess.

“You should rest,” I recommended.

“The rich are not lazy,” she said.

What is her problem with this rich-and-poor thing? “I'm not arguing rich and poor with you now. Your health comes first, my queen.”

“What do you know?” she asked.

“How to take care of my woman,” I said before realizing how romantic it sounded.

“You know nothing but poverty,” she retorted.

“You know, I've heard that when people keep repeating a phrase, it's most likely because they have a bad memory or are scared of it. Don't worry. Your parents have made it big for you. You can never be poor.”

Apparently, I'd become a motivational speaker too.

“Fear my ass,” she retorted and picked up her phone to make a call.

“You're going to be a nuisance. That's why I decided to rest at home. So go and commence your bakery class, but leave some pastries in the fridge.”

“Yes, my queen,” I replied and left.

From 11 a.m. that morning until 4 p.m., our hands were busy baking. Yet when I got home, I still had the house to tidy. My queen had apparently left it in her nature.

“Why is it just you?” she questioned when she saw me doing everything myself.

“What do you need, my queen?” I was active.

There was some discomfort in her body, and I had to think through so many possibilities since she wasn't going to tell me.

“Should I get you some medicine?” I asked.

“No,” she replied.

“Make another satisfying pastry?”

“No.”

“Please, make it easy for me and just say what you want,” I said. She picked up her diary. Then she tore out a page and crumpled it.

I quickly picked the paper up before it fell to the ground and almost smiled.

SANITARY PAD.

It read.

So... she had a shy side?