How Can My Husband And I Improve Our Bed Comfort?

Karen Daly originally thought that she had married an ordinary man. She never expected this man would suddenly become her boss. He actually was the most mysterious heir of Rovio Corporation Inc, the richest man in Asia. In public, he was a cold-blooded, decisive controller among the massive business empire. In private, he was a wolf in sheep's skin, like a real devil. How could he let her go easily?...

After my husband, Adam Hargrove, custom-orders the new couch, he's completely obsessed over it. Not only does he insist on sleeping on the couch every night, but he also refuses to let me touch it. I seriously can't take his weird obsession any longer, so I decide to bring up divorce before him at our son's party. Everyone just stares at me in shock. Adam even responds by splashing the wine right at my face. "What the hell are you on about, Lena? I neither cheated on you nor got in contact with any woman out there! Are you seriously divorcing me just because I sleep on the couch every night?" I reply immediately, "That's right!"

I was a woman with a strong appetite for intimacy. After a car accident, however, my husband couldn't get it up anymore…

"What do you think, Kenzo? Do I look sexy in this" pushing the door open to his suite room, he was met with the most unexpected scene, with sprawled legs on both sides of the bed, a book in her hands, in a flowy lacy thin white gown which stuck dangerously to her body, doing absolute justice to her perfectly rounded boobs which poked out dangerously through the see-through night gown, his long distance wife was right there, on the bed. She finally looked away from the book which was seated on both palms of her hands, she tucked it aside and then raised her head up, her eyes meeting his. "Missed me, dear husband?" Three weeks and four days ago was their 7th year wedding anniversary, and she wasn't available, she was never available, not for the first, second, fifth, nor sixth. So, why was she here now? After years of living totally apart despite being married, their main focus was their company, or at least, hers. They married for love, people think they didn't, they think it is a contract marriage, they married for love, or maybe just him. He married her because he loved her and he thought she did too, but maybe he was wrong. Why was she here now? This is a short, fast-paced romance designed to keep you hooked from the first page to the last.

My wife, Wendy Sinclair, has a severe sleepwalking disorder. After she falls asleep, she always wanders out in a state of unconsciousness. The night before our wedding, she disappears without a word. I have no choice but to postpone our wedding. Only then does she walk out of her childhood friend's house next door, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Afraid I might overthink, she cries and apologizes to me. "There's no cure for my condition. From now on, just tie me up when I sleep, okay?" I feel sorry for her, so I just change the door lock to make sure she cannot go out. But in the middle of the night, I wake up and see her standing on the edge of the balcony. She climbs in through the window and goes into her childhood friend's house again. Soon, suggestive and intimate sounds come from inside. My blood runs cold. Her sleepwalking isn't an illness at all—it is out of love.

My husband dotes on me. He's always saying I'm the one he cherishes most in this life. Everyone else envies me too, saying I married well—pampered like a princess. It all started when I mentioned, offhand, that tailored cuts flatter my figure. From that moment on, he kept it in mind every day, going out of his way to gather all kinds of designer womenswear for me. In the walk-in closet at home, there's always a wardrobe filled exclusively with my new clothes—each piece haute couture, with exquisite fabrics and impeccable craftsmanship. On New Year's Eve in our third year of marriage, the house was lively, packed with relatives chatting and laughing. With a smile, my husband handed me a gift box. "Go on, open your New Year's present." The frustration and resentment I'd been bottling up for so long exploded in an instant. I shoved the box to the floor. "It's the New Year—can you just stop for once?" The moment the words left my mouth, everyone fell silent. The relatives' expressions shifted; one after another, they began to scold me for being ungrateful, for not knowing how lucky I was. My husband looked at me, eyes full of shock and hurt. "I just bought you some pretty clothes. Why are you angry?" Amid their pointing fingers and his wounded questioning, I rushed into the walk-in closet like I'd lost my mind, dragging out those designer clothes and throwing them all over the floor. Everyone stared at me, stunned. No one said another word.