Chapter 3
"A... cohabitation agreement?" I whispered.
I thought I must have been hearing things.
Damian saw my shock and nodded.
"That's right," he said. "You'll live here so I can monitor your mental state and prevent reckless actions."
I opened my mouth but said nothing.
What kind of reason was that?
He wanted to monitor my mind?
Was he afraid I'm crazy or not crazy enough?
"I refuse!" I said, pounding my chest. "I'm sane! Today was a freak accident!"
"Oh, really?" Damian said, calmly pulling out his phone and opening a video.
On the screen, there I was, wielding a butcher's knife, kicking open the front door, and screaming like a madwoman in the living room.
"Damian! Where's Ben?" I screamed.
My voice was rough, sharp, and full of despair.
Then the scene shifted, and I was clinging to a man's leg, crying like a toddler.
"I messed up!" I cried.
Even my snot bubbles showed in the video.
This was total embarrassment.
I wished the ground would swallow me then.
He turned off the video and smirked.
He asked, "How viral would this go if I posted it?"
I didn't even want to think about it.
I would lose my dignity forever.
"Damian, you're shameless!" I yelled, trembling with rage.
"Right back at you," he said coolly. "You barged in waving a knife."
I... had nothing to say.
"So, will you agree or not?" he pressed.
What choice did I have?
Of course, I agreed, holding back tears.
Living under someone else's roof means bowing your head.
He held my most embarrassing secrets.
So, just like that, I—Maggie Cole, a divorced mom—ended up back in my ex-husband's mansion because of that fiasco.
This time, I was just a suspected lunatic under his watch.
David was incredibly fast.
Thirty minutes later, a new cohabitation agreement sat before me.
The agreement was straightforward.
Party A: Damian Black.
Party B: Maggie Cole.
Term: three months.
During that time, I had to follow all of Damian's rules—no breaking anything, no yelling, and more.
The endless rules made me feel less like a roommate and more like I was signing up for jail.
But the last clause was the real kicker.
"Maggie shall handle all housework and prepare all meals for Damian."
I jabbed my finger and shot Damian a death glare. "What does this mean?"
"Exactly," he said coolly. "You broke my stuff, so you owe me. Luckily, my maid quit, and you can take her place."
I was so pissed I wanted to curse him out.
So I was his guinea pig and his free maid now?
He've got it all figured out.
"Do I have a choice?" I asked, clutching my last hope.
"You can refuse," he spoke, pointing at his phone. "But I have many backups of that video."
I sighed and wrote my name.
After signing, I felt like I'd sold my soul to the devil.
"Now," he said, pocketing the agreement and grinning, "go make dinner. I'm starving."
...Seriously?
Fine, I'd endure it.
All for my dignity and Ben's tuition. No way I'm backing out now.
I entered a kitchen larger than my living room, filled with gleaming appliances, feeling out of place.
The fridge was packed with luxury ingredients—Australian wagyu, French oysters—things I'd only seen in magazines.
What choice did I have?
I could only cook simple dishes.
An hour later, I served Damian four dishes and a soup.
A few homestyle dishes—nothing fancy. Scrambled eggs, steak fries, spicy tofu, simple salad, and soup to round it out.
He frowned deeper at the plain dishes.
"You're really serving me this?" he asked skeptically.
"What's the problem?" I replied confidently. "These are classic comfort foods—nutritious and good for you!"
Damian just stared at me in silence.
He ate the scrambled eggs with chopsticks.
Then he took another.
He shoveled it in like he hadn't eaten in days.
I watched in disbelief as the billionaire CEO devoured my home-cooked dishes like a hungry wolf.
At the end, he picked up his plate and poured the last sauce over the rice, leaving no drop.
He finished, set down his bowl, wiped his mouth, and instantly returned to his icy, untouchable vibe.
"The taste's so-so," he said coolly.
I snorted at the spotless plates.
Still playing tough, huh?
On my first day at his mansion, I felt out of place.
The next morning, I was dreaming of fighting Ben for the last drumstick when an alarm woke me.
I groggily opened my eyes and saw I was lying on a bed larger than my bedroom.
Above me, a crystal chandelier sparkled as I lay wrapped in a silk comforter.
Right. I'd "signed my life away."
I got up and checked the alarm clock.
It was six in the morning.
That capitalist jerk, never let me off on weekends.
The agreement required me to get up at six daily to make him breakfast.
Yawning, I went to the bathroom to get ready.
Then I saw myself in the mirror and nearly jumped.
A woman with wild bedhead, Pikachu pajamas, and sleep crust stared back at me.
My messy look clashed with the palace-like bathroom behind me.
I silently flipped off my reflection.
"Come on, Maggie, you're an emotionless cooking machine," I muttered.
Then I splashed water on my face and went to the kitchen.
Damian insisted on a perfectly nutritious mix of Western and Chinese breakfast dishes.
So I was frying eggs, toasting bread, and cooking millet porridge.
By breakfast, he was fully dressed and ready, like for a board meeting.
He wore a tailored suit and looked like an untouchable CEO.
He read his financial newspaper, calmly sipping the coffee I brewed.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, bathing him in gold.
Hate to admit it, but the man was gorgeous. Like, stupidly gorgeous.
It's a shame he was a heartless capitalist.
"Done staring?" he asked without looking up.
I looked away, pretending to wipe the table.
"Breakfast's ready," I said casually.
He put down his newspaper and looked at my breakfast.
A sandwich, fried eggs, millet porridge, and pickles.
He silently picked up the sandwich and took a polite bite.
I stood like a servant awaiting the emperor's choice.
"The coffee's too sweet," he said suddenly.
"Huh?" I froze, staring. "I didn't add sugar."