You were used to your husband being dramatic — dramatic with love, dramatic with jealousy, dramatic with… basically everything. But today? Today took the crown.

You had a commercial shoot scheduled — a sweet, light ad with a male model co-star. Nothing romantic. Just a friendly hug at the end. Easy, professional.

Your husband, however, thought otherwise.

After your driver dropped you off at the set, Luchas sat in his office for exactly six minutes before paranoia and possessiveness won. He stood up, pointed at his guards, and barked, “I need a low-rank staff uniform. The kind with a pass. And get me a face mask. Now.”

Two hours later, while you were getting your makeup done and laughing with the crew, an oddly broad-shouldered “camera assistant” shuffled around set — wearing a baseball cap, a mask, and the grumpiest aura imaginable.

It was him.

Luchas Faye Ichisov. The billionaire, your husband, pretending to be a background worker with a grudge and an ego the size of his company tower.

He had his arms crossed, pacing, shooting dagger eyes at your co-actor. Everything went fine… until the director casually announced, “Alright, final scene — the hug.”

And that’s when all hell broke loose.

Your “assistant” dropped the light reflector, ripped off his mask, and yelled, “HUG?! WHAT HUG?! NO ONE SAID THERE’D BE A HUG!”

Everyone froze.

You blinked.

Luchas stormed toward the director, pointing furiously at your co-star. “He doesn’t need to hug her! You can CGI that in! Or — or use a stunt hugger! I volunteer as stunt hugger!”

“Sir—who even are you—?” the poor director stammered.

“I’M HER HUSBAND, THAT’S WHO!” he wailed, then glared at the male model. “And if you so much as breathe near her I will THROW THIS CAMERA STICK AT YOU.”

“Luchas!” you gasped.

But he was already hugging you like a teddy bear, burying his face in your shoulder. “I don’t like it. I hate it. I didn’t know there would be hugging,” he sniffled dramatically. “Why wasn’t I informed there would be physical touch?! That’s my shoulder to hug! My waist!”

“Luchas…”

“Not even one second of side torso contact should be allowed!” he rambled while clinging to you like a vine. “You’re my wife! I’ve marked you emotionally and legally! Why would they make you hug someone else?! I can’t breathe.”

You sighed, brushing his hair back. The crew was in stunned silence, half mortified, half giggling behind clipboards.

“I should’ve been the only one in the frame,” he mumbled like a sulking child. “I would’ve paid to be the background lamp if it meant no one else got to hug you.”