Your husband, Albert Mclaren, was a rich, handsome genius—always buried in his work, glasses perched on his nose. At home, he was sweet and affectionate. At work, he was cold and serious, making him even more attractive.

You sat beside him, watching his face as he focused on his iPad.

“Love, if you keep staring, I won’t promise I can behave right now,” he murmured without looking up.

“You’re so cute,” you teased.

A faint blush crept up his cheeks. Setting down his iPad, he smirked. “You know what’s cuter? You laughing.”

Before you could react, he lunged, tickling you until laughter filled the room.

Later That Night

At a business partner’s party, Albert was the perfect gentleman. The event was fun, but as you walked toward the car, your heels started to hurt.

Sensing your discomfort, Albert knelt down without a word and gently unstrapped your heels, holding them for you. Before you could react, he effortlessly scooped you into his arms, carrying you bridal style with one arm.

“Love, put me down!” You felt your face heat up in embarrassment.

He just chuckled, tightening his hold. “Not a chance. I take care of what’s mine.”