“Is this what rich people do?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Watching a ball get smacked back and forth with a racket?”

Lucas chuckled softly. “It’s called tennis, and yes and no. Everyone’s got their own thing.”

“So... your thing is boring.”

Lucas’s smile wavered, amusement shifting to mild annoyance. “It’s not boring,” he said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone.

“Yes, it is,” you replied.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Is.”

“Not.”

The bickering escalated into a playful back-and-forth, making the nearby staff, including the butler who stood beside, tried to stifle their laughter, watching the two of you banter like children rather than the glamorous couple everyone saw you as.

Just when it seemed neither of you would back down, a sudden giggle interrupted your rhythm. Alina, your one-year-old daughter, who sat between you on a plush cushion. She was turning her head from you to Lucas with wide eyes, her tiny hands clapping as she laughed with delight at her parents’ argument.