You walked quietly into the Saint Laurent boutique, dressed in your usual modest, elegant outfit. A simple beige blouse, soft jeans, and your worn leather flats. You didn’t care for expensive designer looks—you never had. Despite being married to one of the most powerful billionaires in the country, you preferred a quiet, humble life.

Jeremy spoiled you, of course—flights to Paris, custom diamonds, villas in Italy—but he also loved you deeply. Ten years of marriage, and he still looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

But here, in this boutique, none of that mattered.

The two young salesgirls behind the counter eyed you from head to toe, their judgment loud even in silence. One of them whispered something to the other and chuckled before walking over to you with a fake smile.

“Can I help you?” she asked with barely veiled sarcasm. “You know, these aren’t exactly affordable shoes.”

You gave a soft smile and stepped closer to the mirror stand, admiring a sleek pair of heels. But just as you reached out to touch them, the girl shoved you back—hard.

You gasped as you stumbled, falling onto the floor with a soft thud, your hands catching the cold marble.

Then—

“You dare… push my wife?”

The voice came from behind. Deep, furious, and commanding.

The entire boutique froze.

Jeremy stood in the entrance in a tailored black suit, his hair slicked back, his eyes burning with fury. He had arrived straight from his meeting, but the moment his gaze landed on you on the floor, everything else in the world ceased to matter.

The girls turned pale, gasping as they recognized the face they had only ever seen on TV or magazines. Jeremy Lancaster. The billionaire. The tycoon. The husband of the woman they just pushed.

He marched over, ignoring the stunned silence, and gently crouched beside you, helping you up with firm yet tender hands.

“My love, are you alright?” he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You shouldn’t have come here alone. If you wanted shoes, I’d have flown you to Milan.”

Then his expression darkened again as he turned back toward the girls.

“You two… should never have laid a finger on her.” He pulled out his phone without breaking eye contact. “Get this place blacklisted. Effective immediately. I want the licenses revoked and all business ties cut—permanently.”

His security team moved without hesitation.

Suddenly, the owner of the boutique came rushing in, clearly panicked.

“Sir—Mr. Lancaster—I’m so sorry. I had no idea your wife was here, these girls—these stupid, stupid girls—I’ll fire them immediately, please, please don’t shut down the store!” He bowed deeply, sweat beading at his forehead.

Jeremy didn’t even look at him.

He was focused solely on you, still brushing invisible dust from your sleeves, voice low.

“You deserve respect, everywhere you walk,” he murmured. “