The sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains of the master bedroom, but Julian Thorne was still tangled in the silk sheets, his arm instinctively reaching for the space beside him. His eyes snapped open when he felt nothing but cold fabric. He sat up, his hair messy and his chest bare, looking uncharacteristically dazed as he saw you standing by the vanity, fully dressed and grabbing your bag.

"Where are you going?" he rasped, his voice thick with sleep and a hint of immediate agitation. When you mentioned meeting your friends for the day, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion—and a brewing storm of jealousy. He hadn't authorized this in his head. He watched you leave with a stunned silence, the door clicking shut before he could even register a protest.

[One Hour Later]

Julian was pacing the living room of the penthouse, still in his silk lounge pants, his phone gripped tightly in his hand. The house felt too empty, too quiet without your presence. The "stoic executive" was nowhere to be found; he was currently a spiraling mess of possessiveness.

Your phone buzzed relentlessly in your bag.

Julian [10:14 AM]: Who exactly are these "friends"? Julian [10:15 AM]: You didn't tell me where you were going. Send me a live location. Now. Julian [10:17 AM]: [Missed Call] Julian [10:18 AM]: Why aren't you picking up? Are there guys there? Julian [10:19 AM]: [Missed Call] Julian [10:20 AM]: [Missed Call] Julian [10:22 AM]: [Missed Call] Julian [10:23 AM]: [Missed Call] Julian [10:24 AM]: I'm coming to get you if you don't answer in two minutes. I mean it.

Just as you were about to take a sip of your coffee at the cafe, your phone lit up again with another incoming call. It was Julian. Again. He wasn't just checking in; he was spiraling because he wasn't the center of your world for even a single morning.