Chapter 18 I'll Take Care of You Forever
"The sales team is the backbone of this company," Stacy Chen drawled at the weekly meeting, her voice laced with venom. "If some people don't have the chops for it, they shouldn't clog up the roster. Leave the spots for those who can actually deliver."
"This isn't a charity," she added, smirking. "We all know that. People who can't land a single deal and just coast on base pay? They'd better start thinking about their next move."
Clara Bennett kept her head bowed, her brow creased with tension all afternoon, Stacy's barbs echoing in her mind.
After a grueling day, she trudged home, only to find Mason Reed lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone like he hadn't a care in the world. The kitchen was a ghost town—not even a kettle on for tea.
The dam holding back Clara's frustration finally broke.
"You... didn't cook?" she asked, her voice trembling with exhaustion.
Mason looked up, startled, his eyes shifting from the screen to her.
Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing quick, her chest rising and falling with every shallow breath.
Those wide, sparkling eyes pinned him in place.
Her tone wasn't sharp—it sounded more like a weary wife nudging her husband than a real accusation.
Something stirred in Mason's chest, his gaze softening with a flicker of curiosity.
"What's wrong?" he asked, standing up from the couch with an innocent shrug. "Since we got married, hasn't it always been you in the kitchen?"
Clara hesitated, biting her lip. Mason towered over her, his broad frame casting a shadow that made her feel small. Her resolve wavered. She wasn't the type to pick fights—not really.
"Yeah, you're right," she murmured, eyes dropping to the floor. "It's always been me. But I'm working now, Mason. Couldn't you... pitch in a little around here? This house isn't just mine to run."
"I got home late today," she pressed on. "Even if you don't cook, couldn't you at least prep something? Or am I supposed to handle everything?"
Mason's eyes narrowed slightly. This was the first time since their wedding that Clara had snapped at him—well, "snapped" was generous.
It was more like a grumble. Her half-hearted glare, the way she tried to sound mad but couldn't quite pull it off, was almost..
. adorable. Like a ripe peach begging to be teased.
"Oh," he said, nodding slowly, a playful edge creeping into his voice. "So you're saying I'm a dead weight? Dragging you down because I don't punch a clock?"
"No!" Clara blurted, flustered. "That's not what I meant!"
He stepped closer, studying her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. His dark eyes glinted with something he didn't even notice himself—a hint of warmth, maybe more.
"Then what did you mean?" he asked, leaning in.
"Mason," she said, taking a deep breath and meeting his gaze with quiet resolve, "I married you because I'm in this for the long haul. You're my husband. I'd never resent you."
"Even if you never worked a day in your life," she added softly, "I'd take care of you."
Her voice trailed off, and she started second-guessing herself. Was that too harsh? Men and their pride—especially someone like Mason, with his murky past—didn't take kindly to talk like that, right?
"What was that?" Mason said, fighting a grin as he pressed his lips together. "You'd take care of me?"
"Yeah," she replied, blinking up at him. "What's wrong with that?"
Her clear, earnest eyes caught him off guard, sparkling like glass in the dim light. His heart gave an unexpected thud.
"Sure, tradition says the guy brings home the bacon," Clara said, her tone growing more confident, "but it's not the Dark Ages anymore. Women can work too. It doesn't matter who pays the bills, as long as we're in it together. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?"
Mason paused, then let out a low chuckle. Clara might look soft, but she had a spine—and ideas he'd never heard from anyone else. A woman offering to support him? That was a first.
If she was throwing it out there, he'd roll with it.
His smile widened, and to Clara, it looked almost... odd.
"You okay?" she asked, peering at him, unblinking.
"Fine," Mason said, slipping back into his usual cool detachment. He cleared his throat. "Since there's no dinner here, let's eat out."
Clara's eyes widened. Did this guy have X-ray vision? How'd he know she'd gotten paid today?