He answered quickly, "This… this is something a relative once taught me when they came over. Try it. See how it tastes."
Only after speaking did he realize he had misspoken.
But Mary did not press further.
Ryan picked up a slice of fish and put it into his mouth.
The fish was tender and smooth, melting almost instantly. The spiciness hit first, then the fragrance followed. It was hot, but not overpowering. Instead, it made him want to eat more.
His eyes lit up.
"This is really delicious," he said sincerely. "It's refreshing. I haven't eaten something this good in a long time."
He picked up another piece eagerly. "The factory sometimes makes eastern-style fish dishes, too, but it's nothing like this. Their version is just spicy. Yours has flavor."
Mary watched him eat with genuine enjoyment, her heart warming quietly.
Most women felt the same way. When someone liked their cooking, especially the person they cared about, it brought a special kind of happiness.
Seeing that Mary had not eaten much, Ryan picked up a large portion of fish and placed it into her bowl.
Then he took the fish head for himself.
Afraid she would not want it.
Mary blinked, then smiled.
This fool really knew how to take care of people.
She ate a little more, then lost her appetite. Calmly, she picked out the bones and chilies from her bowl and pushed the remaining fish toward Ryan.
He did not refuse.
By the time he finished eating, sweat covered his forehead. He had undone a few buttons because of the heat. Fine beads of sweat clung to his chest.
Mary's face suddenly felt hot.
This man is dangerous.
She actually had the urge to pounce on him.
No. Calm down.
She stood up quickly and went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water.
Ryan noticed her reaction. He did not say anything. Instead, he stood up, cleared the table, and carried the bowls and chopsticks into the kitchen.
He began washing them quietly.
Mary leaned against the doorway, watching him with satisfaction.
A man who took initiative and worked without being asked was never a bad man.
"I like eating fish," she said casually. "If we have fish again, I'll make this dish again. Next time, I'll also make fish eggs and meatballs for hot pot."
Ryan paused slightly, then smiled.
While washing the dishes, his thoughts drifted.
It was a good thing he had insisted on bringing Mary away.
When he received the telegram saying there was a problem with the production line, he rushed home. His mother cried nonstop. His father smoked silently. His sister complained endlessly, while his sister-in-law added fuel to the fire.
Everyone said Mary was bad.
Lazy. Greedy. Difficult.
But he persevered.
Just like when he left home at fifteen to find work. He had been right then too.
Mary was nothing like what they described.
The house was clean. The neighbors were friendly. Life felt peaceful.
If he had listened to them and agreed to divorce back then, he would never have this moment now.
He was glad he held on.
Mary did not hear his thoughts.
If she had, she might have smiled and said calmly, "How could a person with a different soul be the same as before?"
If she had not transmigrated into this body, with the original owner's temper, Ryan would probably have suffered far more than just a pot of spicy fish.
*
After finishing tidying up the kitchen, Ryan walked out quietly.
The living room light was still on.
Mary was sitting under it, a book resting in her hands. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, soft strands catching the warm glow. Every so often, she turned a page, fingers slender and unhurried.
An apple sat in her other hand.
She took small bites, her lips pink and moist, opening and closing gently as she chewed.
Ryan's steps slowed.
For a brief moment, his mind went completely blank.
Then, before he realized what he was doing, he was already in front of her.
Mary looked up just as he approached. Seeing him walk over, she picked up another apple from the table and stood up, intending to hand it to him.
But when she raised her eyes—She froze.
Ryan's clothes were loose from the heat. His gaze was dark, intense, burning as it locked onto her. Mary forgot what she wanted to say entirely.
He took one step forward.
She took one step back.
Another step—her back touched the wall.
There was nowhere left to retreat.
Mary lifted her head, staring at him up close. His eyes were beautiful—sharp phoenix eyes, deep and unwavering, reflecting only her.
Her heart thudded.
What… what is he going to do?
Before she could think further, a sudden pain bit into her lips.
Her eyes widened.
He kissed me?
And not gently either.
Her lips stung. She instinctively wanted to pull away, but his hold was firm. After a long moment, his movements softened, the pain fading into a strange warmth that made her head dizzy.
"Wife," a low voice murmured above her, hoarse and restrained, "be good. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath."
Almost without thinking, Mary obeyed.
She closed her eyes.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly.
When Ryan finally released her, she was gasping lightly for air. Her legs felt weak, and she leaned into his arms without realizing it. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes misty and unfocused.
Ryan swallowed hard.
He really wanted to continue.
But he restrained himself.
"Wife," he asked softly, "do you want me to continue?"
Mary finally regained her breath. She glared at him, embarrassed and annoyed.
"Continue what?" she snapped. "I was trying to give you an apple! And you turned out to be this bad!"
Ryan calmly took the apple from her hand, lifted her slightly, and bit into it.
Crunch.
He smiled faintly.
"It's very sweet," he said. "I like it."
Mary stomped her foot in frustration.
"It's the apple that's sweet! I gave you an apple, and you bullied me instead!"
She didn't realize her voice sounded more coquettish than angry.
Ryan leaned closer, his eyes flickering with amusement and heat. "You're my wife. If I don't kiss you, who should I kiss?"
Mary's face burned.
"Next time," she warned, pointing at him, "you're not allowed to kiss me without my permission. You have to respect me!"
After saying that, she turned and ran straight into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Ryan watched her retreating figure, lips curving.
People always said men had to take the initiative.
It seemed… they weren't wrong.
But as the memory of her soft lips and warm body replayed in his mind, his breathing grew heavier. Her faint fragrance lingered, her softness pressed against him earlier still vivid.
His lower abdomen reacted instantly.
This was bad.
Very bad.
He had used all his self-control just now. If he stayed like this, he really might lose control.
Cold shower.
Immediately.
Ryan turned and went into the bathroom.