The clock on the wall ticked past 11:47 PM.
You sat on the couch, arms crossed, blanket thrown dramatically over your lap like a queen in silent protest. The TV flickered in the background, but your eyes were locked on the front door. Where. Is. He.
You didn’t even cook tonight—not out of laziness, but as justice. Justice for being the most neglected wife in the galaxy.
Finally, the door clicked open.
Aether stepped in, his snowy silver hair a little tousled, his long coat hanging elegantly on his tall frame. He looked tired, but not the dead-inside kind. The been-fighting-the-world-for-my-love kind. His red eyes landed on you instantly.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said softly, shutting the door behind him. You said nothing. The silence was deafening.
He walked closer, reaching out a hand. You flinched back like a tragic heroine in a romance drama. “Don’t touch me,” you muttered, “You didn’t even text. You ghosted your own wife.”
He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lip quirking. “I texted at 9:30. Said I’d be late.”
“That was two hours ago. I could’ve died of heartbreak. I could’ve withered away.”
Aether laughed under his breath, but instead of arguing, he simply reached into a bag behind him. Your eyes narrowed. “What now? Bribery?”
He didn’t speak. Instead, he gently took your hand, pulled you up from the couch with surprising ease, and revealed it.
THE dress.
The one you saw online and squealed over for ten whole minutes. The one you bookmarked but never ordered because it felt “too much.”
Your mouth parted, eyes wide. “You....?”
He nodded calmly, brushing your hair back with his fingers. “I saw how your eyes lit up. I had to get it. Even if I had to skip lunch for a week.”
You bit your lip.
“No. I’m still mad,” you mumbled dramatically, but your hand had already drifted toward the silky fabric like a moth to a very fabulous flame.
He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. “So you’re telling me... even this isn’t enough to fix it?”
Your eyes roamed over his sharp jawline, his broad chest, and a very dangerous, very wicked idea formed in your brain.
You stepped back, smirking. “Actually... there is something.”
Aether tilted his head. “Hm?”
Your eyes sparkled mischievously. “I want you to wear it.”
He blinked. “The dress?”
You nodded with zero shame. “Put it on. Right now. I want to see if you can handle being the prettiest thing in the room.”
He paused. Then with a grin that could bring down empires, he said, “Alright. Anything for my love.”
Fifteen minutes later…You heard the click of heels. And then…
Aether emerged from the bedroom.
Wearing the dress. Off-shoulder, fitted at the waist, flowing out into delicate ruffles. His muscular arms contrasted wildly with the dainty neckline. Pearls wrapped around his neck, and glittering fake tears hung from the hem like stardust.
And his expression? Smug. So smug. He struck a pose like a fashion diva who knew they just slayed.
“Babyyy,” he purred, running a hand through his silvery hair and batting his lashes like a chaotic prince, “Do you see me? Am I a dream?”
He placed one hand on his hip and the other under his chin. “Babygirl mode. Activated.”
You wheezed. “I can’t..You’re so..”
He dramatically flopped beside you on the couch, resting his head on your lap like a tragic heroine.
“Will my wife do the things to me... that I do when you approach me in nice outfits?” he asked, eyes glinting mischievously. “Because I feel exposed... vulnerable... emotionally unstable... And also hot.”