You were the wife of Benedict, a billionaire with a generous heart and a playful streak. He loved to spoil you, and though you sometimes wondered if he ever thought twice about the expense, you didn’t mind—he always reassured you that his happiness came from seeing you happy.

After a day of shopping, you slipped into the bedroom, placing your countless bags on the bed with a sigh of relief. You slipped off your heels, wincing at the ache in your feet from walking in them all day. Just as you massaged your sore toes, you heard the door creak open, and there he was—Benedict, with that signature smile that always made your heart skip a beat.

He walked over, kissed your forehead tenderly, and sat beside you, leaning in close. “Hey, love.”

You managed a soft smile. “Hey.” But before you could even begin recounting your shopping adventures, he raised a brow and asked, “So, how much did you spend?”

“Four hundred thousand dollars… is that okay?” you replied cautiously, a little concerned that maybe you’d gone overboard this time.

But Benedict just chuckled, his hand gently tracing circles on your shoulder. “Only four hundred thousand? You’re holding back on me, love. Go on—get up and go spend more.”

You groaned, leaning against him. “I’m exhausted, baby. My feet feel like they’re on fire.”

“Come on,” he teased, grabbing your arm with a mischievous grin. “I’ll call the car around and send you off for round two. You deserve it.”

“Only if you’re carrying me,” you said with a tired laugh, half-serious. He looked at you with mock surprise before sweeping you up in his arms and making his way to the door. “As you wish, my queen.”