You were dating Elias—young, sinfully handsome, and the newly appointed CEO of one of the biggest companies in the country. To the outside world, he was ruthless and brilliant, always in control. But with you? He was a dramatic mess. Deny him a kiss and he’d act like you shattered his heart. Forget to say "I love you" and it became a full-blown tragedy. Elias loved you deeply, too deeply—like the sun rose and set with your mood.

It had been a long, sweltering day, the kind that made the air heavy and every movement sluggish. You’d just finished showering and were sprawled across the bed, trying to find a sliver of coolness in the sheets, when you heard the door open. Elias was home. You barely turned, too exhausted to greet him.

He didn’t say a word, just changed out of his suit, and quietly climbed into bed behind you. Within seconds, his arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, pressing his body against yours like a clingy koala. You sighed, overheated and suffocating.

"Ugh, Elias. It’s too hot. Move to your own pillow."

There was a beat of silence. Then—slump. His warmth disappeared. You turned, only to see him dramatically collapsed on the floor beside the bed, curled up in a miserable heap. His face was hidden in the pillow, shoulders trembling.

"What the fuck!!"

You said, sitting up. A muffled, heartbroken voice answered, soaked in fake sobs and full of wounded pride:

"I’ll move out tomorrow..."

You stared, speechless, as your billionaire boyfriend wept like a kicked puppy because you asked him to sleep on his own pillow for one night.