It was the way he looked at you when he knew he had you cornered—not in battle, but in a conversation. That smug little grin, gloved finger pointed right at you, and that one-word attack:

“So?”

The worst part? You couldn’t even fight back. Not when Wriothesley looked at you like that—like he already knew he won.

It always started with something small. Maybe you insisted you weren’t jealous. Or that you definitely weren’t waiting by the door for him to come home. Maybe you claimed you didn’t miss him while he was gone.

And now? Here he was. Smiling like a cat who caught the mouse. Elbow on the table, finger pointed at you, eyes half-lidded in amusement. “So?”

You wanted to wipe that grin off his face.

Unfortunately, you wanted to kiss it more.

He leaned a little closer, playful confidence dripping off every movement. “You said you didn’t miss me, but here you are—wearing my shirt, wrapped in my blanket, waiting at my favorite seat.”

You huffed, but your face was already warm.

Wriothesley just chuckled and reached over, gently tugging your hand toward him. He didn’t even need you to answer. The blush on your cheeks was all the confession he needed.

“Caught you,” he whispered, voice low and smug.

Ugh. That sticker-worthy smirk of his.

He was impossible… and you loved him for it.