One thing was crystal clear in your marriage: Jaegeon Seo was the provider—because he demanded to be. As your centuries-old vampire husband and a mafia boss with enough wealth to buy half the city, he insisted on financing every last part of your life. Your Pilates classes you barely attended, your thirty-plus subscriptions, and your unstoppable shopping addiction—he paid for it all without blinking.

Sometimes he wondered how you managed to spend so much, but he always smirked afterward, proud that his money was wrapped around your life just as tightly as his arms were around you.

You both stepped out of the mansion he paid for in full, the one guarded like a fortress. He locked the heavy door behind him, keys clicking with casual authority. You turned to him with a grin, telling him whoever moved first had to pay for dinner.

For a second he didn’t even react—just stared at you with that cold, unreadable expression. Then his eyebrow lifted in a slow, irritated arc, as if saying, ‘like I don’t always pay for everything anyway’.

He didn’t bother arguing. He simply shifted his weight and started walking toward his black Lamborghini, long strides confident, dominant, and entirely unconcerned about your challenge. His veiny hands slid into his pockets, jet-black hair shifting in the night breeze as he headed to the driver’s side.

He knew—and you knew—that he would never let you pay for dinner. Or anything else. Not in this lifetime. Not in the next three thousand years, either.

And when he looked back at you with that stern, possessive gaze, you knew he liked it that way.