My Vampire Beloved Husband
Chapter 143: Single

Chapter 143: Single

Cough. Cough. Cough.

Thick smoke curled through the air, stinging her eyes and nose. Rose coughed, waving a hand frantically in front of her face, trying to disperse the smoky haze. This was the third time she had burned the food, and frustration clawed at her chest like an impatient beast.

With a sharp sigh, she grabbed a thick hand towel and carefully lifted the smoking pot off the stove, wincing as the heat seeped through the fabric. Moving swiftly, she dumped it into the sink, the loud clang echoing in the quiet kitchen.

Her heart pounded.

Not because of the burnt food. Not even because this was becoming a routine disaster.

But because Rylan could walk through that door at any moment.

She swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter. If not for the pay—and the fact that she lived with him—she would have quit by now. Cooking was the only thing giving her trouble, no matter how hard she tried. And today? Today was just another humiliating failure.

Rose sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm brewing inside her.

"Shit. F*cking hell," she muttered under her breath, glaring at the charred mess. "Now I have to wash this pot again."

She scowled at the remnants of what was supposed to be dinner before her gaze flickered toward the recipe video still playing on her phone screen.

"Stupid, useless user," she grumbled, reaching for a dish towel.

She had been following yet another MeTuber’s cooking tutorial, watching the overly cheerful chef whip up a flawless meal like it was second nature. And yet—

For the third time today, I ruined it.

Rose’s scowl deepened.

"You’ve got millions of subscribers, yet—" She cut herself off, jaw tightening.

It wasn’t the MeTuber’s fault.

It was hers.

Her fingers clenched the dish towel as she turned away, biting her lower lip. She hated admitting she was bad at something—especially something as basic as cooking. But no matter how closely she followed the instructions, the result was always the same.

Disaster.

Sighing, she turned on the tap to rinse her hands, her mind still spinning.

But the moment the cool water touched her fingers—

Splash!

Her phone slipped from her grip.

Rose’s eyes widened in horror as the device tumbled into the sink.

No, no, no!

The water rushed over it, the screen flickering as if gasping for air before turning completely black.

"Shit!" She yanked it out, shaking it frantically, but deep down, she already knew the truth.

It was dead.

A choked breath left her lips as she stared at the drenched device in her hands.

Her phone was dead.

Her cooking was a disaster.

And now—

"What is going on here?"

A deep, smooth voice cut through her spiraling thoughts like a blade.

Rose jumped back, spinning on her heel.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Rylan.

He stood in the doorway, dark eyes sweeping over the scene—the smoke lingering in the air, the burnt pots, the broken expression on her face.

He took a step forward.

Instinctively, Rose moved, placing herself between him and the sink, shielding the evidence of her failure.

"You came back early," she blurted, forcing a nervous chuckle as she scratched the back of her head.

Rylan’s gaze narrowed slightly. "Why does it smell like something’s burning?" His nose scrunched up in distaste.

"Burnt?" She let out a forced laugh, waving a dismissive hand. "What are you talking about? Hahaha, you’re so silly! Maybe it’s from the, uh..."

Her voice trailed off as she watched him step closer.

Her breath hitched.

Wait.

Why was he coming so close?

A new panic rose in her chest, different from the one before. Her body tensed, heat creeping up her neck.

Was he going to—

Was he going to kiss her?

Her pulse pounded in her ears as she squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the unexpected moment.

But—

Nothing happened.

Slowly, hesitantly, she cracked one eye open.

And what she saw made her wish she could disappear.

Rylan was staring at her, brow raised in confusion.

Not at all leaning in.

Not at all about to kiss her.

Instead, his arm was stretched past her, reaching for the pots behind her.

Her stomach dropped.

Wait...

He hadn’t wanted to kiss her.

He had just wanted to get to the pots.

Heat rushed to her face, her ears burning with mortification.

Disbelief.

Because she had actually thought he wanted to kiss her.

Annoyance.

Because why the hell did she let her guard down like that?

And most of all—

Embarrassment.

Because she had literally shut her eyes like a fool, waiting for something that wasn’t even crossing his mind.

"Why is it not just one pot?" Rylan sighed, rubbing his temple. "There are two burnt pots?"

Rose forced a laugh, awkward and weak. "Haha... yeah, that’s exactly what I was wondering too."

She scratched her head before quickly changing the subject. "Maybe we could just order takeout?"

Rylan crossed his arms, unimpressed. "No. So you’re telling me you can’t cook?"

Her stomach twisted.

Rose bristled, masking her embarrassment with a glare. "So what if I can’t cook? We all have our strengths, and cooking just isn’t mine."

Rylan exhaled, his fingers pressing against his temples. "What am I going to do with you?"

His gaze flickered over her face, pausing at her flushed cheeks, her lips slightly caught between her teeth.

Should he be annoyed? Amused?

After a brief silence, he sighed.

"Let’s wash the dishes. Then, I’ll teach you how to cook."

Rose blinked.

She hadn’t expected that.

At all.

And the fact that he used let’s meant he was including himself in the chore.

She stood there, momentarily speechless.

"Well? Are you waiting for me to throw away the burnt food?"

She jolted, snapping back to reality.

Moving quickly, she grabbed the ruined meal, about to dump it into the trash—

But before she could—

"Don’t ever waste food like that again," Rylan said firmly. "If you can’t do it, tell me. Is that understood?"

Rose swallowed, feeling the weight of his words press down on her like an anchor.

She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes."

For a moment, his gaze lingered on hers, unreadable, sharp. Then, just as quickly, he turned away.

"If this ever happens again," he added, his tone casual yet firm, "you’ll be punished."

Rose froze mid-movement.

Her head snapped toward him, her breath hitching.

"Punished?"

The word barely escaped her lips, more air than sound.

She watched him closely, searching for any sign of jest, any indication that he wasn’t entirely serious. But Rylan wasn’t smiling. His expression remained composed, detached, as if he hadn’t just said something that sent a shiver down her spine.

"So, you’re telling me that—"

She stopped herself abruptly when his sharp, knowing gaze met hers. A silent warning.

Her lips pressed together, swallowing the rest of her words. Instead, she turned back to the pots, quietly placing them on the counter with careful precision, as if any sudden movement might shatter the delicate tension hanging between them.

Without another word, Rylan rolled up his sleeves and began washing. The rhythmic sound of water filled the silence, the clinking of metal against porcelain the only other noise in the room.

Rose hesitated.

Then, slowly, she reached for the first clean pot he handed her, gripping the towel a little too tightly as she dried it.

The silence stretched. Thick. Unfamiliar.

And then—

Out of nowhere—

"Are you single?"

The question dropped like a pebble into still water, the ripples immediate.

Rylan stilled.

His hands froze in the sink, water dripping from his fingertips.

His head turned slightly, eyes narrowing, as if trying to gauge whether she was joking. He expected a smirk, maybe even a glint of mischief in her expression.

But there was none.

She was serious.

Completely, unwaveringly serious.

A heavy pause filled the kitchen, dense enough to steal the air from his lungs.

Then, with the same controlled movements, he rinsed the second pot and passed it to her.

Rose accepted it in silence.

Her fingers moved with almost unnatural precision as she dried it, her focus sharp, too sharp.

Rylan’s gaze lingered on her, his brow furrowing.

Something about this felt... off.

And then—

She spoke again.

"Let’s date, Rylan."

The words landed like a stone in the quiet space between them.

His fingers curled slightly against the sink.

Rylan looked at her, his expression unreadable. The flickering kitchen light cast shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows.

Another pause.

Then, after what felt like an eternity—

He nodded.

"Fine, let’s do that—"

Before he could finish his sentence, she moved.

Fast.

One second, there was distance.

The next—

Her hands curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him forward, crashing into him with a force that left no room for hesitation.

Her lips met his in a sudden, searing kiss.

Rylan’s eyes flew wide.

Shock slammed into him like a tidal wave.

She wasn’t gentle.

She wasn’t hesitant.

It wasn’t slow or sweet—it was abrupt, demanding, filled with something he couldn’t quite place.

Just as quickly as it had begun—

She pulled away.

A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips.

"I’m sorry," she murmured, her voice impossibly light, almost amused.

"I do that when I’m annoyed."

Rylan just stood there, silent, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened.

He exhaled slowly, pressing a hand against the counter for balance.

What the hell had he just agreed to?

His eyes flew wide. So the real reason she asked if he was single was that she wanted to relieve her annoyance by kissing him?

"So you’re telling me you kiss men to relieve your anger?"