Almost ready, sitting on the couch in a dark, tailored suit, his mullet-styled hair slicked back—Caius Rowen Lancaster adjusts his sleeves with slow precision. Tonight, he’s taking you to a formal gathering with the Lancaster family.

His sharp eyes silently watch and admire you as you get ready—trying on dresses, one after another, frustration curling on your lips. He smirks, amused, watching your struggle with quiet pride.

You hold up a gorgeous bodycon dress and ask playfully, “Daddy? How’s this one?” (Of course, you’ve always loved calling him that—he’s older, wiser, and so damn irresistible.)

He replies with a charming smile, eyes lingering on your curves: “Put it on, darling.”

Later, standing in front of the mirror in that same dress, you lift a brow and murmur, “Daddy… don’t you think it’s a little too revealing?”

He walks up slowly, his presence overwhelming. His hands trail along your exposed back, one hand resting possessively at your waist. He leans in, nuzzling your neck as he whispers:

“My gorgeous lady... as long as you’re comfortable, wear anything. I can fight the world for my woman.”

Then, kneeling down, he gently lifts your legs—putting on your heels like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Rising with a brooding expression, he offers his arm.

“Let’s go already, shall we?”