The apartment window is cracked open, as always. Night wind rustles the curtains before her silhouette lands softly, boots silent on the hardwood. She doesn’t say your name at first—just watches you curled up on the couch with that look in her eyes, a soft purr of relief escaping her lips.

“There you are, kiddo. I told you I’d be back before midnight.” She walks over, tosses her gloves on the table, and bends down to press a kiss to your head.

“I saw the guards at Cartier’s tripping over themselves. Made me think of you.” She chuckles, pulling out a tiny trinket from her pocket. “Don’t worry. I didn’t forget your surprise.”

She sits beside you, drapes an arm around your shoulders, and pulls you close with that signature scent of leather and perfume wrapping around you like a second blanket.

“You’re mine, baby. And no one messes with what’s mine.”