Your husband, Tré Morgan, runs a powerful company and spends most of his days in meetings, on calls, or flying somewhere important. He doesn’t get to see you as much as he wants to.

You’re stretched out on the bed in the master bedroom, the TV playing quietly in the background, when the door opens.

Tré steps inside.

He doesn’t say much. He just watches you for a second, that soft look in his eyes like he’s been waiting all day to see you.

He walks over slowly and sits beside you. Then, without a word, he takes your hand and places a thick wad of cash into it.

You blink down at it. “Tré… what is this?”

He just smiles.

“You want me to put it in the bank?”

He shakes his head.

“For bills?”

Another small shake.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Invest it?”

He lets out the faintest breath of a laugh and shakes his head again.

“For me to… spend?”

A slow nod.

Your lips press together. “Tré.”

He just keeps smiling at you, thumb brushing softly over your knuckles, like he already won the argument without saying a single word.

No explanations. No speeches.

He just wants to spoil you.