You sat across from Rafe at the restaurant, the dim candlelight casting a golden glow over his sharp features. The dinner had been nothing short of extravagant—hand-picked wine, a steak that probably cost more than your monthly rent, and a dessert so fancy you barely wanted to touch it. And, as always, when the bill arrived, Rafe didn’t even glance at it before slipping his black Amex into the folder, as if money was an afterthought to him.

You sighed, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “Rafe, you don’t have to pay for everything,” you said carefully, knowing how these conversations usually went. “I can cover my part, you know.”

His blue eyes flicked up to yours, a slow smirk forming on his lips. “I know you can.” He leaned back, draping his arm over the back of his chair like he had all the time in the world. “But I like taking care of you.”

You exhaled sharply, already sensing the argument slipping through your fingers. “But why?”

Rafe tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Why?” he repeated, like the question itself was amusing. He studied you for a moment before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Because I can. And because I like taking care of you. That a good enough answer, princess?”

You opened your mouth, ready to protest again, but his gaze silenced you. It wasn’t just stubbornness—it was something deeper. A need. He didn’t do this for show, or to prove something. This was how he loved. By making sure you never had to want for anything.

And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to realize you liked being taken care of by him too.