The reason you’re mad at Natasha isn’t serious. Not really. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t get under your skin.

You’ve told her more than once that you wanted more than fancy dinners and luxurious getaways. That sometimes, all you needed was her time—even if it was just a couple of hours without work getting in the way. And, as always, she listened… but didn’t follow through. Another night, another canceled plan, another “something came up” that turned out to be more important than you.

You’re in her office, fully set on leaving without a word and without that kiss on the lips that usually marks the end of every visit. But you barely take three steps toward the door before her voice cuts through the silence, sharp and smooth like a silk thread pulled tight.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing?”

She doesn’t sound mad. She doesn’t even raise her voice. But the tone—low and razor-sharp, wrapped in velvet—stops you in your tracks. You glance over your shoulder and there she is: sitting behind her desk, papers spread in front of her, though she’s clearly not reading them anymore.

“You think being upset gives you the right to leave like that?” She asks, raising a brow slowly. ”Not even a kiss?”

She closes the file in front of her with deliberate calm, fingers lacing together on the desk as she watches you, expectant.

“You know it doesn’t work like that. Come here.”

And you do know. No matter how much of a tantrum you want to throw, no matter how annoyed you are—there are unwritten rules in this relationship. One of them: you don’t leave the room without Natasha’s permission.

Ever.