Chapter 5: Why Is It Locked?

After the long flight, Kayla finally landed at the international airport in Country A. The moment she stepped through the arrivals gate, her eyes locked onto a tall, imposing figure standing among the crowd.

Arthur was wearing a fitted black polo and dark sunglasses, leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed over his chest. When he spotted Kayla, he removed the sunglasses, revealing the same sharp, intense gaze she remembered.

Kayla walked up hesitantly. "H-have you been waiting long?" she asked, trying to make small talk.

Arthur didn't answer her question. He simply took the large suitcase from her hand. "You're here. Let's go — car's out front," he said curtly, without a shred of pleasantry.

Kayla swallowed hard, her eyes blinking rapidly. She was terrified of her own husband.

Dear God. I have to live with a man this cold and stiff? I asked one simple question and he completely ignored it. What is my marriage going to look like? she thought.

Kayla climbed into the car, and the atmosphere inside was exactly as uncomfortable as she'd feared. Dead silence. No conversation. Arthur was laser-focused on the road, and Kayla finally summoned the nerve to break the ice.

"Are we going to stay at your parents' house, or mine?" Kayla asked.

Arthur glanced at her briefly, then turned back to the road. "We're staying at my apartment."

"Wait, why not your parents' place? Or mine?"

"I don't like it," Arthur said. Short. Final. Conversation over.

Kayla couldn't think of a comeback, so she gave up and rode the rest of the way in silence, drowning in awkwardness.

Before long, Arthur's car pulled into a luxury high-rise apartment complex in the heart of the city.

They walked into the building together, and when Kayla stepped inside Arthur's apartment, she couldn't help but be impressed. The interior was minimalist and impeccably organized.

"I've put your bags in the bedroom. I need to get back to the hospital. Text me if you need anything," Arthur said.

Before Kayla could respond, he was already gone. She let out a heavy sigh. "I didn't even get to ask which hospital he works at. I'll just ask when he gets home," she muttered, then started unpacking.

But as she was organizing her clothes, she noticed that the walk-in closet was already half full — of Arthur's things.

"Hold on — why are his clothes in here too? Don't tell me we're sharing a bed. That can't be right," she mumbled.

To confirm her suspicion, she stepped out of the closet and scanned the bedroom more closely. Sure enough, several of Arthur's belongings were scattered throughout — and the nightstand on one side of the bed was clearly his.

"I'm really going to sleep in the same bed as him? No — no way. He must've put me in the wrong room. We should have separate bedrooms, like in the novels. We were matched by our families, not because we're in love," Kayla muttered, then shoved her things back into the suitcase.

She left the bedroom and went searching for another room she could claim. No luck — every room was already occupied. One was Arthur's study, another was storage. Finally she reached a door near the kitchen. She tried the handle. Locked.

"Why is it locked? What's in there? Oh God — what if my husband is in the mafia and he's hiding bodies inside? That's always how it goes in the novels. And Arthur totally fits the profile — cold, stoic, aloof, ridiculously handsome, and loaded... Stop it, Kayla. You sound like a child. He's obviously not in the mafia. This is what happens when you read too many novels — your brain goes haywire," she muttered to herself.

With no other option, she brought her suitcase back to the bedroom and resolved to ask Arthur about the sleeping situation when he got home.

Kayla spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of restless anxiety. Eventually, exhaustion from the long journey won out, and she fell asleep.

That evening, she woke and checked the clock. "Seriously — when I sleep, I sleep like the dead. It's already seven," she grumbled, dragging herself out of bed to shower.

After her shower, her stomach started growling, but she was too intimidated to touch anything in Arthur's pristine kitchen. More accurately, she couldn't cook — her repertoire was limited to fried eggs, fried rice, and instant noodles.

Not knowing what else to do, she waited for Arthur to come home. Around nine o'clock, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the apartment, and Kayla knew it was him.

Arthur walked in looking even more exhausted than before. His white coat hung over one arm, and the top two buttons of his dress shirt were undone. When he noticed Kayla standing near the living room, he paused.

"Not asleep yet?" he asked, setting his car keys on the table.

"Not yet. I-I was waiting for you," Kayla said, her voice uncertain.

Arthur gave a slight nod and headed for the kitchen to get some water. Kayla gathered her courage and trailed after him.

"What?" Arthur asked, noticing her following.

"I'm hungry," Kayla admitted, embarrassed.

"Then eat."

"I can't cook. I was going to make fried eggs, but there aren't any eggs. No noodles either. And no rice," Kayla said.

"Order something. I'm tired and need to rest," Arthur said.

"Wait — I wanted to ask about the bedroom. Why were my things put in your room? Isn't there another room? I looked around earlier, but everything's full. And there's one door that's locked —"

Arthur set down his glass and turned to face her, his expression unreadable.

"We're married. We sleep together. And that locked door — don't ever try to open it. That's my private room," he said.

Kayla's throat went dry. Her mafia fantasies came roaring back. What if there really are bodies in there? Or a secret room full of weapons? she thought.

"Don't let your imagination run wild. I'm going to bed. There are menus from a few good restaurants near the fridge," Arthur said, then left.

"So this is what being a wife is like. He's supposed to say something like, 'Of course, sweetheart. Let me take a quick shower and then I'll cook you something special and we'll eat together.' But no — instead he tells me to order my own food," Kayla grumbled.