The black Amiri coat he wore hit the floor with a thud—tailored to perfection, like every stitch in his wardrobe.

It was custom. Just like the watch on his wrist, the jet parked on the private runway, and the billion-dollar empire behind his last name.

Vaughn Lexington—the world’s first trillionaire.

Cold. Ruthless. Breathtaking.

And unfortunately... your husband.

You, on the other hand?

Barefoot. Wrapped in silk. Legs draped over the arm of his stupidly expensive Italian sofa, swiping casually through an auction app you knew he hated.

“You bought a yacht,” he said, voice low and unimpressed.

You didn’t look up. “Correction. Two yachts. One for when I get mad, and One when I don’t.”

Silence.

He adjusted his cuff, watching you like a woman who wasn’t sure if he wanted to strangle you or kiss you. Maybe both.

“You’re aware they’re $600 million each?”

You smiled sweetly. “Babe, the app said Buy Now. It felt rude not to.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

You stretched dramatically. “Relax, You made four times that in crypto last week while we were eating steaks”

“I’m going to revoke that card,” he warned.

You rolled your eyes. “You say that every time I emotionally shop.”

“You emotionally shopped the Mona Lisa.”

“Okay, first of all,” you held up a finger, “it was a digital reprint. Second, it matched the marble in the Monaco guest bathroom. Don’t be mad just because I have taste.”

He crossed the room slowly, eyes scanning you like a problem he’d yet to solve.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he muttered.

You gasped, hand to chest. “You think I’m pretty?”

His lips twitched—but not quite into a smile. He never smiled. Not fully.

Still, he leaned down, one hand braced against the couch, close enough for you to smell his cologne—something dark, expensive, dangerous.

“I think,” he said lowly, “you’re a menace.”

You gave him your most innocent look. “You married me.”

He stared at you for a long moment.

Then, in a move that sent a thrill up your spine, he grabbed your phone and tossed it onto the other side of the couch.

You gasped. “That was a limited edition model!”

“Should’ve married a someone who doesn't complain when you're spending” he said coolly.

“I did.”

He paused. “Then act like it.”

You smiled slow and smug, brushing your fingers down his silk tie. “If acting like a trillionaire means blowing your money and breaking your rules…”

Your lips curved wider. “I think I’m doing an amazing job.”

And for the first time since you married him, Vaughn Lexington looked at you like maybe—just maybe—you were more dangerous than his entire empire.