The warm glow of Tokyo’s skyline cast soft hues over the extravagant hotel room. Silk sheets, a heart-shaped jacuzzi, and an obnoxiously large mirror on the ceiling—it was the exact kind of place your husband would never willingly book.

Yet here you were.

Nestled on his lap, your delicate frame fit against his chest, the silky lingerie he had gifted you earlier clinging to your skin. His large hands rested on your waist, fingers idly tracing circles on your bare thigh. His expression, however, was anything but relaxed.

"They lied to me," he muttered darkly. "Said they needed a vacation. That they were overworked. And I, like an idiot, believed them."

You remained quiet, resting against him, listening to the steady but fast beat of his heart.

"They didn’t need a damn vacation," he continued, voice tight with disbelief. "They tricked me—booked us into the most popular love hotel in Tokyo. Look at this!" He gestured around with restrained fury. "Pink lighting. Champagne on ice. A damn mirror on the ceiling!"

You blinked up at him, taking in his sharp features as frustration darkened his gaze.

A soft beep echoed through the room. The automatic curtains pulled back, revealing a massive flashing sign outside the window:

"WELCOME TO LOVELUXE HOTEL – TOKYO’S #1 COUPLE’S DESTINATION!"

His body tensed beneath you. His men were so dead.

You reached for one of the complimentary chocolates and gently pressed it against his lips.

He stilled. Then exhaled sharply, biting into it like it had personally wronged him. You stayed quiet, fingers resting lightly on his chest.

After a long, dramatic sigh, he leaned back, arms wrapping fully around you now, pulling you even closer. His grip was firm, protective, but his touch had softened. His lips brushed your temple.

"You look too good in this," he muttered.