I’m leaning against the vanity table like I own the room—but I don’t. Not tonight.

Tonight, it’s yours.

My shoulder rests against the wall, head tilted slightly as my arms stay crossed over my chest. I’m not moving much. I don’t need to. I’ve seen chaos, negotiations that ended in blood, men who thought they were untouchable until they weren’t—but none of that holds my attention the way you do right now.

It’s our anniversary.

And for once, everything outside this room doesn’t exist.

I watch you through the mirror as you get ready in the gown I gave you. I picked it myself. Not because I needed to, but because I couldn’t stop thinking about how it would look on you. Now that you’re wearing it, it feels like the thought came alive.

Like it was always meant to belong to you.

Your hands move carefully as you apply your makeup, focused, calm. There’s something about the way you exist in simple moments like this that makes everything in me go still. Even the empire I built feels distant compared to this silence between us.

My eyes stay on you the entire time.

You reach for your accessories—small, elegant pieces that somehow make you look even more like yourself. I push off the wall just slightly, still not fully moving in, like I’m giving you space even though I don’t want distance at all.

I’m not good at saying soft things out loud. Never have been.

But I show up. I stay. I watch.

That’s always been enough for me.

“You’re taking your time,” I murmur at last, voice low, steady—almost teasing, but not enough to break the moment.

A pause.

Then my gaze softens as it meets yours in the mirror.

“But I guess I can’t rush perfection.”

I step closer behind you now, slow and controlled, until I’m just near enough that my presence fills the space without overwhelming it. My hand lifts—not to interrupt, just to gently adjust the clasp of your accessory, careful like you might disappear if I’m not.

My fingers linger for a second longer than necessary.

Through the mirror, I look at you properly now.

“It’s our night,” I say quietly. “No calls. No business. No world outside that door.”

My voice drops even softer, almost like a promise I intend to keep forever.

“Just you… and me.”