5.1

Ten months ago, Andrew's life changed forever. He got married. And marriage is a significant event in anyone's life—more so for an omega. He married into the Whitemore family—an old-money, rigid, and traditionalist household. He didn't get a choice, not exactly—he was told about the marriage, not asked. But he knew his parents meant well—the Whitemores were an influential family, and Lucien, his husband, was the sole alpha heir. And Andrew understood stability, in a marriage, is important. He didn't have many expectations, and *thus*, disappointment never came. Not when Lucien was cold and standoffish at the first meeting. Not when Lucien refused to kiss him. Not when Lucien had, very coldly, told him they'd be having separate rooms and *"Don't expect anything from me. This marriage is for show—a formality."*

To be fair, Andrew understood. It wasn't a love match. Not even a love-cum-arranged match—which is basically: it's a love marriage, but the families agreed so we're attaching the *arranged* label so it seems more proprietary, which seemed to be quite popular nowadays. It was a pure, cold, hard arranged match. They met twice before the wedding. Technically once, since Lucien got a call during the second meeting and left after five minutes. Oh well. Andrew had made peace with it. He wasn't exactly... a striking omega. He wasn't ugly, yes, but he wasn't extraordinarily beautiful either. He wasn't seductive in a coquettish way or like a vixen. Nor was he adorable in a doe-eyed way. He was just... plain. In a forgettable, background-character way. Maybe a sidekick, if we're being kind. 

He didn't have any special interests either—he'd been raised with traditional values and had a university degree in art history. His only interest? Cooking and arts and crafts. Very... housewife-coded. And not in the sexy way. He'd learned early in life he wasn't the kind of omega who turned heads. He wasn't a Vivienne. He was an Andrew. Even he didn't know what he meant by that, but he couldn't imagine it being anything good.

Now, who was *Vivienne*? Lucien's former *"love"*—which was a very generous term, believe me—and a textbook example of a walking red flag dipped in luxury couture. A gorgeous, calculating omega who'd flirted with Lucien for years before choosing a richer, flashier alpha. Vivienne had been all high heels and eyelash curls, and Lucien—young, hopeful, tragically dumb—had loved her. Lucien was so lovestruck that he didn't realise he was just another conquest in her collection, a backup option, so to say. She kept him in a loop as a safe option to fall back on while simultaneously searching for a higher-value alpha—and when she found him, made a tragic show of choosing her *true love* and delivered a very heartfelt speech about how she appreciated Lucien's feelings, but they were better as friends and she never saw him that way.

It had obviously made Lucien—and by extension, the Whitemores—a laughingstock in high society. Their heir was chasing after an omega who had, on multiple occasions, flirted with others, kept him in the loop, and still left him in the end. And the Whitemore heir, like a stupid lovesick puppy, was still holding on to that—even after four years, not having a single romantic entanglement with another. It was tragic, really, they said. Which, in socialite circles, was a euphemism for *"this dumb fool is making a clown out of himself again."* Anyhow. This was a major hit to the Whitemore name, so naturally, they had to take action. The first eligible match that came for Lucien was selected—which happened to be Andrew. A rushed engagement followed, and after six months, a marriage. Andrew hadn't known about the Vivienne story until after the wedding. And there went any hopes he held of Lucien eventually softening after the marriage.

Still, he did his duties perfectly—managed the household, kept his head down, minded his own business. And to Lucien's credit, he wasn't an awful husband—he was distant, cold, yes, but at least he wasn't abusive. Yeah, real high standards Andrew has right here. But you get like that when you've been overlooked your whole life.

Anyways, since the Vivienne betrayal, Lucien hadn't let anyone close. Especially not Andrew. From day one, Lucien had been distant, formal, and as emotionally available as a tax form. But Andrew didn't mind. He wasn't the clingy sort. He didn't pine or cry or ask why they never went on dates, or why Lucien never said *I love you*. He simply accepted the coldness and kept doing his duties—and cooking. Andrew *loved* cooking. From scratch, with a level of precision and sincerity that made even the chef-in-residence feel a little inadequate.

Unbeknownst to Andrew, it turns out he wasn't as forgettable as he thought. Lucien, for his part, *was* affected. Somewhere between the homemade sourdough and quiet glances over tea and scones, he found himself… attached. Begrudgingly. Quietly. Like a man accidentally buying a plant and realizing a few weeks later he loved it more than anything in the house.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. And yet.

Somewhere along the way, Lucien had started noticing things. 

The way Andrew's hands moved with quiet confidence when he cooked. The faint hum under his breath when he thought no one was listening. The way he always, *always* made sure Lucien's coffee was exactly how he liked it—black, no sugar, just a hint of cinnamon, because he'd once offhandedly mentioned preferring it that way.