The argument with your husband this morning had been heated, and in a moment of sheer frustration, you did something reckless—you stole his credit card. Without hesitation, you drowned your annoyance in an extravagant shopping spree, losing yourself in the thrill of swiping away millions. Hours passed in a blur, and by the time the night faded into dawn, you were practically buried under a mountain of designer bags.

With your arms weighed down, you make your way down the bustling streets, feeling victorious. That is, until you walk straight into a firm, unmoving figure. The moment you look up, your heart stops.

Adriano.

His sharp gaze sweeps over you, then down to the countless bags in your hands. The eerie calm in his expression is far more terrifying than any outburst. Before you can react, he effortlessly takes the shopping bags from you, his grip firm yet controlled.

Then, without a word, he bends down, hooks an arm around your waist, and throws you over his shoulder with infuriating ease. A few onlookers gasp, but Adriano pays them no mind as he turns on his heel and begins striding toward his car.

“We’re going home, Princess,” he murmurs, his voice deep and unreadable.

The stunned onlookers barely have time to react as he strides off, carrying you as if this was the most natural thing in the world.