Breakfast With Ice

The morning sunlight poured through the tall windows of the Moretti mansion, landing on Han So-yeon’s face like a gentle reminder that, yes, yesterday really happened. She had married Leonard Moretti, the most unreadable man on Earth.

So-yeon sat up, blinking. The bed was far too big. She could probably sleep on one side for a week and never wrinkle the other.

She looked around the elegant, gold-and-cream room — marble floors, silk curtains, everything screaming money and silence. It was beautiful… and intimidating.

Her stomach rumbled. “Well,” she murmured, stretching her arms, “if my husband doesn’t love me, at least his kitchen probably will.”

---

Downstairs

In the grand dining hall, a table long enough for twenty people sat waiting. Leonard was already there, reading a newspaper, sleeves perfectly rolled up, a cup of espresso beside him.

He didn’t look up when she entered.

“Good morning,” she said brightly, forcing cheer into her voice.

“Morning.” His tone was polite, flat. He turned a page.

So-yeon walked toward him, eyeing the array of pastries and fruit. She hesitated, unsure where to sit. The table was massive — if she sat at the opposite end, they’d need microphones to talk; if she sat beside him… well, that felt like trespassing into an iceberg’s territory.

So she chose the middle — a safe, neutral zone.

“Do you always eat breakfast like this?” she asked, placing a croissant on her plate.

Leonard lowered his newspaper slightly. “Like what?”

“So quiet. No music, no conversation, no life-threatening caffeine overdose?”

His brow lifted. “I like silence. It’s efficient.”

So-yeon tore off a piece of her croissant, mumbling, “Efficient. Of course. The most romantic breakfast word ever.”

He shot her a look — not quite annoyed, more like confused that she was talking at all.

“Do you want the chef to prepare something specific for you?” he asked finally.

She smiled sweetly. “No, I’ll survive. Unless you plan on poisoning me — then I’d at least like something spicy first.”

Leonard blinked, clearly unsure if she was joking.

“Why would I poison you?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “You just look like the type of man who could do it without wrinkling his suit.”

A pause. Then, unexpectedly, one corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile — but he caught it before it escaped.

So-yeon gasped dramatically. “Was that… emotion? Did my husband almost smile?”

“I did not.” He reached for his coffee.

“You did. I saw it. Barely, but I saw it.”

He sighed, lowering the cup. “Mrs. Moretti, are you always this talkative in the morning?”

“Only when I’m nervous,” she said honestly, then added softly, “and you make everyone nervous.”

That silenced him. He folded his newspaper and studied her, really studied her, for the first time. There was no mockery in her voice — only truth, wrapped in warmth.

“I don’t mean to,” he said finally.

“I know.” She smiled again, gentle this time. “Maybe you’ll get used to me.”

Leonard looked away, the faintest trace of discomfort in his perfect composure. “Don’t count on it.”

But as she poured herself orange juice — missing the glass entirely and spilling half on the table — he exhaled through his nose, something dangerously close to a laugh.

She groaned, dabbing at the mess with napkins. “Great. Day two of marriage: my first crime — orange juice massacre.”

He stood up quietly, walked over, and handed her another napkin. His fingers brushed hers, just for a second.

“Try not to destroy the empire before lunch,” he murmured.

So-yeon looked up, meeting his eyes — and for a brief, flickering moment, she thought she saw warmth beneath the ice.

Then he straightened his cuffs and left the room.

---

So-yeon watched him go, sighing into her juice glass.

“Yep,” she whispered to herself. “Totally in love with his personality already.”

But behind the doorway, Leonard paused. His lips curved — just slightly this time — and he shook his head.

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