Chapter 5: A Stranger’s Smile

“Sometimes the smallest smile can feel like a key opening ".

I don’t know when I started watching him like this ;quietly, secretly, as if the entire world had shrunk to the distance between us.

It’s only been three days since we signed that marriage certificate. Three days since I said yes to a stranger.

But every time I look at him, my husband I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve known him before.

That I should remember something.

That this wasn’t as random as it seemed.

first morning after our “official” move-in, I woke up to the faint sound of piano music echoing through the house. Soft but hesitant, almost like the person was playing to remember, not to perform.

For a second, I thought I was dreaming until the scent of coffee hit me.

I got up, tiptoeing barefoot to the doorway, my robe half-tied.

Adrain, still in his shirt from last night, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his fingers brushing across the piano keys. Morning light spilled through the window and caught his face just enough to make me realize he hadn’t really slept either. There he was, God. He really was beautiful in daylight.

When he finally looked up, our eyes met. He stopped playing.

“You’re awake,” he said camly in that smooth, low tone that somehow carried warmth.

“Barely.” I tightened my robe. “Do you… always play before breakfast?”

“Only when I can’t sleep.”

I blinked. “You couldn’t sleep last night?”

His lips tilted. “Could you?”

I didn’t answer. Because the truth was no, I couldn’t either.

He gestured toward the table, an elegant spread of eggs, fruit, croissants, and yes, two steaming mugs of coffee that smelled way too expensive.

“I had the staff bring breakfast up. I wasn’t sure what you liked.”

“That’s… considerate.” I hesitated, sitting opposite him. “I’m used to cereal.”

He smirked slightly. “I’ll have them note that.”

The way he said it “have them note that” reminded me just how different our worlds were. Mine was filled with deadlines, late-night instant noodles, and peeling paint in a rented apartment. His was all marble counters, quiet housekeepers, and piano music before dawn.

“So…” I began, stirring my coffee unnecessarily. “Do you… I don’t know, do you make a habit of marrying people from blind dates?”

He actually laughed, low and short. “No. You’re the first.”

“Great, Lucky me,” I muttered.

“Maybe,” he said, but his tone was unreadable.

I tried again. “What made you say yes that night? You didn’t even know my last name.”

He looked at me for a long moment — then smiled, slow and faint, like he was remembering something.

“Because you looked like someone I used to know.”

My heart skipped.

“Someone?”

He didn’t elaborate. Just went back to sipping his coffee as if he hadn’t just dropped a mystery into my lap.

Later that morning, we were about to leave for the day, him for some meeting, me to check in with my mother, I caught something unexpected.

The driver, a polite middle-aged man named Mr. Han, opened the car door for me and said softly, “Good morning, Mrs. L—”

Then he froze.

“Ah.... sorry. Mrs. Carter.”

Mrs. L?

I frowned. “It’s fine. What were you going to say?”

“Nothing, ma’am. Slip of the tongue.”

But as I glanced at Ethan stepping into the car, a quiet unease grew in my chest.

Mrs. L.

Like he’d said it before.

Like he’d used to drive someone else here, someone whose name started with that same letter.

When I came back that afternoon, Adrian wasn’t home yet. The house felt too quiet, I wandered.

Through the living room, past the library and into his private study.

I shouldn’t have but something about the slightly open door felt like an invitation.

Inside, everything was organized; dark oak shelves, faint scent of leather, a minimalist desk with just one object on it — a silver picture frame turned face down.

Curious, I simply reached for it.

A smiling couple. A woman, face half blocked by light standing beside a younger Adrian . They looked… happy, naturally like love used to be easy for them.

My stomach twisted.

Before I could process what I was doing, his voice came from the doorway.

“Curious?”

I froze. The frame nearly slipped from my hand.

He leaned against the doorframe, jacket off, shirt collar open, the picture of quiet authority.

“I...I wasn’t snooping. The door was open and..... ”

He walked toward me, slow, calm, unreadable. “You don’t need to explain. It’s a natural question.”

“Then… who is she?”

His eyes dropped to the frame, then back to me.

“She’s someone who’s gone.”

The simplicity of his tone made something ache deep in my chest.

Gone.

Not “dead,” not “ex,” just gone.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He smiled and that’s when it happened.

That soft smile, brief.

“You don’t need to be,” he said. “Just don’t lose yourself trying to understand me, Elena.”

That night, neither of us could sleep again.

He offered to take me for a drive, no destination, no plan, just motion.

Streetlights flickered on the windshield. For once, he looked more like a normal man.

I leaned my head against the window. “Do you ever get tired of being… perfect?”

He glanced at me, a quiet laugh escaping his chest. “Perfect?”

“You have that whole untouchable CEO thing going on. It’s annoying.”

“Annoying?”

“In a… frustratingly magnetic kind of way.”

His smile deepened ,the same one from earlier that made my stomach flutter.

“Careful,” he said softly. “Flirting with your husband could be dangerous.”

I shot him a glare. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

I turned away, but he caught my reflection in the glass — and that small, knowing smile stayed.

A stranger’s smile.

And yet… somehow, it felt like home.

Neither of us said anything else on the way back. When we reached the house, rain had started softly, insistent against the glass.

He walked me to the elevator, but before I could enter, his hand brushed mine a fleeting touch that shouldn’t have mattered.

“Elena.”

I turned.

“If I ever seem distant…” His voice was low, deliberate. “It’s not because I don’t want to be close.”

My breath caught.

“Then why?”

His gaze softened just for a second.

He hesitated. “Because… some things don’t stop holding on. Even when you want them to.”

The elevator doors closed between us with a quiet chime and all I could see before they shut was a faint smile.

He smiled again that same half-tilt that never quite reached his eyes. Like I’d seen it somewhere before, maybe in another life.