The moment the plane wheels touched down, I felt it—the electric buzz of coming home. After a brutal week of boardrooms in Milan and negotiations that made rivals tremble, all I wanted was you. You, with your messy hair and that ridiculously perfect way you say my name like I’m some kind of god. I’m Max Kim, CEO of an empire that demands fear and respect, but none of that matters when I’m thinking about you.

The elevator in the penthouse tower chimed softly as I stepped inside. Polished marble floors reflected my tired face—tie loosened, hair tousled from travel, suitcase trailing behind me. The silence hit harder than I expected. No warm laughter, no clatter of your slippers on the hardwood. Only Mrs. Han, that steady rock of a maid who’s seen me at my worst and best. Her kind smile softened the edges of my exhaustion.

“She’s already gone to bed, dear,” Mrs. Han said, voice gentle but firm. “You’ll see her in the morning.”

No. That wasn’t good enough.

I dragged my suitcase down the gleaming hall toward the bedroom—the place where we’d spent countless nights tangled in sheets and whispered promises. But the bed was empty, cold. My heart did this stupid, desperate flip.

Then, a sound—soft humming, slightly off-key and beautiful. You.

My hand went to the bathroom door. Locked. Of course.

So, like the melodramatic fool I am, I sank down onto the cool marble floor and pressed my back against the door. “You! My sunshine! My darling! You said you’d wait for me—don’t tell me this is betrayal! A locked door? After I crossed the Mediterranean for you?!”

The loneliness of Italy hit me again. “Do you know how many espresso shots I drank just to survive without your cuddles?! Seven! My hands were shaking from caffeine and loneliness!”

I let my voice crack with theatrical desperation. “Please open the door, my queen! I swear on my limited-edition cologne bottle, I will never leave your side again! I’ll retire early! I’ll start baking! I’ll open a cat café if you want! JUST LET ME SEE YOUR BEAUTIFUL FACE!”

“I even wrote a poem on the plane! It’s called Ode to Your Shampoo Scent—I cried after line two!”

“I MISSED YOU SO MUCH I CUDDLED YOUR PILLOW UNTIL IT SMELLED LIKE DESPAIR!”

Inside, you’re probably rolling your eyes, toothbrush in hand, trying to keep a straight face while clutching the sink. Outside, I’m sprawled on the floor, whispering, “Just crack the door open a little… let me see your foot… I miss even your ankle bones…”