From Mr. Nobody to Mr. Perfect!

The aroma of seared beef filled the kitchen as Leon Blackwood carefully plated the Wellington he'd spent three hours perfecting. Golden pastry gleamed under the warm lights, and he'd arranged baby vegetables in a perfect circle—each one cut with precision.

His phone buzzed against the marble counter.

"Sir," came Marcus's urgent voice. "Princess Natasha of Crimania requests your presence at dinner tonight. She's willing to pay—"

"No." Leon wiped his hands on his apron, checking the sauce's consistency.

"But sir, she's offering fifty million just for—"

"I said no, Marcus. I'm busy."

A pause. "Busy? Sir, with all due respect, what could possibly be more important than—"

"My wife's dinner."

Marcus cleared his throat. "Right. Well, there's also another matter. King Abdullah of the Usari Empire wants to hire you as the kingdom's guardian. The salary is... astronomical."

Leon drizzled the red wine reduction over the plate. "Not interested."

"You're turning down a position that would make you one of the most powerful men in the world... to play house husband?" Marcus's voice cracked with disbelief.

"I have a debt to repay," Leon said simply. "Nothing more."

"A debt? Sir, you're living as a nobody in that family! They treat you like dirt!"

"That's enough, Marcus." His tone carried a warning.

"Yes, sir. But if you ever change your mind—"

Leon ended the call.

The front door slammed.

Mia Quinn stumbled through the entrance, her designer heels clicking against the floor. Her silk blouse was wrinkled, her usually perfect hair disheveled. Dark circles shadowed her eyes.

"Welcome home," Leon said warmly, pulling out her chair. "Dinner's ready."

She barely glanced at him. "Not hungry."

"You need to eat something. You've been working late every night this week."

"I said I'm not hungry!" She snapped, then pressed her fingers to her temples. "Sorry. Just... leave me alone."

"Mia, what's wrong? Talk to me."

"Talk to you?" She laughed bitterly. "What's the point?"

Before Leon could respond, the clicking of expensive heels announced another arrival.

"Oh, look who's playing chef again." Beverly Quinn's voice dripped venom as she surveyed the elegant dinner setup. "How lovely. Too bad cooking is all you're good for."

Leon remained silent, his hands steady as he adjusted a fork.

"Mom, please—" Mia started.

"No, darling. Someone needs to say it." Beverly's perfectly manicured finger pointed at Leon. "This pathetic man is dragging our family down. Look at him! Standing there in his little apron like some housemaid."

"Mother—"

"Three years, Mia! Three years you've wasted on this nobody!" Beverly's voice rose. "No job, no connections, no money! What does he contribute? Nothing!"

Leon's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

"See? He can't even defend himself!" Beverly grabbed Mia's arm. "Come. We need to talk. Privately."

She practically dragged her daughter down the hall. The bedroom door slammed shut, but their voices carried through the thin walls.

Leon moved closer, his trained ears picking up every word.

"I told you this would happen!" Beverly's shrill voice pierced through the door. "Oliver Taylor has been waiting for you! His family owns half the shopping centers in the city!"

"I'm not discussing this again," Mia's voice was ice-cold.

"You have to! Our company is bleeding money! The Taylors could save us with a snap of their fingers!"

"I can handle it myself."

"Handle it? HANDLE IT?" Beverly's voice cracked. "We're three months from bankruptcy! Your employees haven't been paid! Our suppliers are threatening lawsuits!"

"I know what I'm doing—"

"No, you don't! If you did, you would've divorced that useless leech years ago! Oliver is young, handsome, rich—everything your so-called husband isn't!"

"Grandfather wanted—"

"Your grandfather was senile! Forcing you to marry some random nobody he found on the street? It was insane!"

"Don't speak about Grandfather that way!"

"Why not? He's dead! And his stupid decision is killing our family!"

There was a long pause. When Mia spoke again, her voice was barely audible. "I won't divorce Leon."

"Then you're a fool! When we lose everything—the house, the company, our status—remember that you chose that worthless man over your own family!"

The door flew open. Beverly stormed out, shooting Leon a glare that could freeze hell.

"Eavesdropping now?" She sneered. "Add 'sneaky' to your list of pathetic qualities."

She swept past him, her perfume leaving a sickly trail.

Mia emerged moments later, her face pale and drawn. She looked at the beautiful dinner Leon had prepared, then at him.

"I'm going to bed," she said flatly.

"Mia, please. Let me help."

She laughed—a broken, bitter sound. "Help? You?" She shook her head. "You can't even help yourself, Leon. How could you possibly help me?"

Her bedroom door clicked shut with finality.

Leon stood alone in the dining room, staring at the cooling meal. His hand moved to his pocket, fingers wrapping around his phone.

He dialed.

"Marcus."

"Sir?"

"Find out who's targeting the Quinn family business." His voice had changed—gone was the gentle husband. This was the voice that made powerful men tremble. "I want names, connections, everything."

"Sir? I thought you weren't getting involved in—"

"That was before someone made my wife cry." The temperature in the room seemed to drop. "Nobody touches what's mine."

"Understood. I'll have a report within the hour."

"Make it thirty minutes."

Leon ended the call and looked at the untouched dinner. His eyes, usually warm when looking at anything connected to Mia, had turned cold as arctic ice.