Helen Grant lost his job, and the burden of supporting the family fell on his partner, Brian Clark.

His beloved is a temporary worker at the neighborhood committee, with a monthly salary of only 2,500, which makes Helen Grant extremely worried.

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Brian Clark secretly works to protect the world from destroyers, and the subsidies are quite generous.

Brian Clark frets all day, wondering how he can subtly tell Helen Grant that his private savings amount to several million.

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Until one day, Brian Clark receives a notice that a massive energy capable of destroying the world has appeared in his home.

Worried that the ordinary Helen Grant might be in danger, Brian Clark hurriedly rushes home with his team, only to find everything peaceful upon entering.

Helen Grant, wearing an apron, is holding a frying pan suspended in midair, frying a fish that is golden and fragrant on both sides.

Seeing Brian Clark, Helen Grant places the frying pan on an unplugged induction cooker and wipes his hands with his apron: "I just wanted to save on the electricity bill."

Brian Clark: ……

The most badass destroyer in the world is his beloved.

Chapter 1

At 5:59 AM, Helen Grant woke up exactly one minute before the alarm rang. He turned off the alarm and quietly got out of bed. Brian Clark, lying beside him, was sleeping soundly, completely undisturbed.

Helen Grant is 27 this year, the partner of Brian Clark, a graduate of a top 3 university in the country, and formerly an HR manager at a well-known financial company, with an annual salary ranging from several hundred thousand to a million. Except for necessary social events and company parties, he would return home at six every evening, go to bed before eleven, and get up one or two minutes before six in the morning. Depending on his workload, he would rest for half an hour to an hour at noon.

He possesses a composure and steadiness far beyond his actual age, and his deep eyes always seem to hold many stories. Years of fitness have given him an excellent physique; his tailored suit hides his muscles, transforming that sense of masculinity into an air of restraint.

Helen Grant is an excellent cook. He likes to get up early to prepare a hearty breakfast for his partner, Brian Clark. Every time he sees Brian Clark happily eating the breakfast he made, Helen Grant feels a joy in simply being alive.

At 7:30 in the morning, Brian Clark was awakened by the aroma of breakfast. He stretched exaggeratedly, let out a big yawn, burrowed into the bed with his blanket, and, with his hair a bit messy, mumbled, "What delicious food did you make today?"

Helen Grant set the breakfast on the table and called out to the still-lounging Brian Clark in the bedroom: "You said yesterday you wanted Cantonese breakfast, so I made shrimp dumplings, siu mai, custard buns, fish congee, fried wontons, and egg tarts, plus grilled sausages and red bean double-skin milk. I didn't prepare too much last night, and time was limited this morning, so I only made a little."

"This is just a little?" Brian Clark sprang out of bed like a carp, dashed into the bathroom, and washed up in record time.

He and Helen Grant got married three years ago. After years of living together, Brian Clark has developed the habit of eating breakfast, and his biological clock has gradually become regular.

Before meeting Helen Grant, Brian Clark's daily routine was as bad as it could get.

He would play on his phone until after three in the morning. Work started at nine, and his first alarm would wake him at 8:30. After turning it off, he'd go back to sleep. The second alarm would ring at 8:40, and finally, at 8:50, the third alarm—set to a piercing siren—would blare, prompting Brian Clark to jump out of bed, rush through washing up and getting dressed in three minutes, and sprint to his workplace near the dorm, clocking in right at nine.

He never ate breakfast. Lunch was always something heavy and spicy like malatang or hotpot, high-calorie and strong-flavored. He'd snack late into the night, even ordering barbecue and beer at 11 PM, eating until he was stuffed.

The young Brian Clark loved to eat and play with abandon—eating in big bites, drinking in big gulps, gaming all night. The night was the time for young people's revelry. "Why sleep so much while alive? There will be plenty of time to rest after death" was his excuse to elders. Living freely and unrestrained was the life Brian Clark yearned for.

It wasn't until he met and fell in love with Helen Grant that Brian Clark slowly learned to go to bed and get up early, and he even quit his late-night snacking.

He took a shower, blow-dried his hair, and, thinking of his friends who were still staying up all night and losing their hair, Brian Clark smugly smiled, picked up a comb, and prepared to style his hair into a youthful, handsome look.

He combed to the left, then to the right, but there was always a stubborn strand sticking up in the middle, like a rebellious cowlick pointing to the sky.

Brian Clark walked over to Helen Grant, who was setting the breakfast table, comb in hand: "There's a strand sticking up—can you fix it for me?"

Not only is Helen Grant a great cook, but he also has the magical hands of a professional stylist. With just a little touch-up, Brian Clark's hairstyle would become stylish and unique, and any unruly cowlick would instantly become smooth and obedient under Helen Grant's hands.

Helen Grant glanced at Brian Clark's hair, pulled out a tissue to wipe his hands, and said calmly, "My hands are oily right now, so it's inconvenient. Just use some hair gel."

"Oh." Brian Clark's expectant look instantly dimmed. He glanced at the expressionless Helen Grant, didn't bother with the stubborn strand, tossed the wooden comb into the bathroom, and sat down at the table, feeling a bit dejected.