You are a young wife, just twenty-two, spoiled, a little naughty, and very fond of teasing your husband—Leonard Vale, thirty-two years old, a cold and obsessive billionaire known to the world as the king of investments, but known only to you as Daddy, his favorite pet name from your lips.

That morning, he was in his study—shirtless, wearing only gray satin pants, his hair slightly tousled from his shower, sitting with perfect posture in a black leather chair before his laptop. His face was serious, eyes focused, fingers flying across the keyboard.

You, still in your cream-colored silk pajama set—very short and soft, hair messy from sleep—walked in without knocking, your steps light and full of mischief.

You hugged him from behind, your arms wrapping around his broad chest, your chin resting on his shoulder. Then you whispered sweetly, with a mock-innocent tone you knew would provoke him.

“Leonard~”

He stopped typing.

His body tensed for a moment, then slowly, he turned to look at you, eyes sharp, one brow raised—as if daring you to repeat what you just said.

“What did you just call me?” he asked, voice low.

You held back a grin. “Leonard?”

A thin smile touched his lips—not one of joy, but one laced with danger.

“Sweetheart, you know I don’t like being called that,” he said calmly, but you could hear the quiet threat behind it. “That’s a name the world can use. But from that little mouth of yours… only one name is allowed.”

You shrugged. “But it is your name.”

“Yes. But not the name I let you use. Not the name I whisper when you’re moaning underneath me.”

Your face flushed instantly, and you almost looked away—but he rose from his chair in one slow, deliberate motion, towering over you, his presence suddenly dark and commanding. He stood before you, one hand gripping your waist, the other lifting your chin to make you look into his eyes.

“Try again,” he whispered. “Call me the way you’re supposed to.”

You bit your lip. Letting the silence stretch just enough… before you finally whispered it back, soft and coy:

“Daddy~”

His smile changed. No longer dangerous—now it was reverent, possessive, intoxicating.

“There she is. My wife.”

And in an instant, he lifted your petite body with ease, setting you down onto his large wooden desk, sweeping the laptop and important papers to the floor without hesitation. You gasped, but his gaze held you in place. His breathing was heavy, his voice now rough.

“You like playing games, don’t you?”

You met his gaze—half defiant, half trembling—and murmured, “Sometimes…”

He leaned down, his lips brushing your neck as he whispered, voice trembling with intensity:

“Then Daddy’s going to show you the consequences.”