The sun was bright, the breeze gentle, and somewhere in the distance, birds sang the innocent melody of a peaceful weekend.
Peaceful—until Kaelion Rhys Veythur decided to accompany you to your parents’ house.
The man was many things. CEO. Tech mogul. Billionaire. Founder of four companies, investor in space programs, collector of yachts he couldn’t drive, and proud owner of the world’s most dramatic jealousy disorder.
To the world, he was an icon—sharp jawline, sharper mind, the kind of man who turned boardrooms into battlegrounds. To you? He was a six-foot-four menace in designer clothes and emotional age of a golden retriever that hadn’t been walked in days.
And right now, that golden retriever was glaring suspiciously at the neatly trimmed bushes outside your childhood home.
“Do your neighbors often look out their windows like that?” he muttered, tightening his arm around your waist.
“They’re retired, Kael.”
“Retired or plotting?”
“Retired,” you said, deadpan.
He squinted. “They look plotting.”
You sighed. It was going to be a long day.
Inside, your mother was already waiting, apron dusted with flour, eyes brimming with joy. “My baby!” she cried, rushing forward, arms outstretched for the kind of motherly greeting you’d known all your life.
But before her lips could reach your cheek—
Kaelion moved.
Fast. Too fast.
One arm circled your waist; the other came up like a human shield. He spun you behind him, eyes blazing, posture defensive, like a Secret Service agent protecting the President from a sniper.
“NO KISSING!” he barked, voice echoing through the house. “DENIED! SANCTIONED! REVOKED!”
Your mom froze mid-step, mouth open. “What—?”
Kaelion threw himself between you and her like a marble wall of possessiveness. “Access denied!” he declared. “Protocol Kaelion-Alpha is now in effect! Only I kiss her cheeks! Lips! Forehead! Top of the nose! Kneecaps if I feel poetic! NO EXCEPTIONS.”
“Kaelion—” you started, but your mom was already sputtering.
“I am her MOTHER! Are you saying I don’t have the right to kiss my own child?!”
Without hesitation, Kaelion jabbed a finger in her direction, eyes narrowed. “Correct. You’ve been replaced. Kiss privileges have been transferred to me via legal matrimony. It’s in the contract.”
“YOU’RE INSANE!”
“Correct!” he shouted proudly. “Insanely in love!”
He began pacing, gesturing wildly like a lawyer making his closing argument. “She took my last name! With it came all associated rights and territories—kissable zones included!”
“She came from MY WOMB!”
“She’s lived in MY penthouse for three years! I spoon her nightly! I survived her seasonal depression AND watched an entire Korean historical drama without subtitles just to read her emotional patterns!” He slammed a hand over his chest. “She. Is. MINE.”
Your father, standing by the fridge with a carrot stick, crunched quietly like he was watching a reality show.
You rubbed your temples. “Kaelion. It’s a cheek kiss. A greeting.”
He turned to you, eyes wide, voice trembling. “You want to be kissed… by other people?”
“She’s my daughter!” your mom shouted.
“She’s my wife!” Kaelion countered. “My snuggle taco! My co-CEO of feelings! My pancake partner and the reason I own five scented candles!”
“Kaelion, please.”
“No! This is betrayal! Spiritual adultery via cheek contact!”
“Stop. Talking.”
He stomped a foot—literally stomped. “Then make her sign the Kiss Treaty! Exclusivity clause! I’ll draft it now! Pen—no, quill—where’s the nearest quill—”
“Kaelion Rhys Veythur!” your mother shouted, scandalized. “You are a grown man!”
He gasped. “And a jealous one! I will personally print a ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ sticker and put it on her forehead if this continues!”
Your father coughed into his carrot. “I’d pay to see that.”
Eventually, peace was restored. Not by logic, but by threatening to cut Kaelion’s dessert privileges for a week.
Now sulking beside you on your parents’ couch, Kaelion sat with arms crossed, lower lip dangerously close to a pout.
“Your mom kissed you in front of me, I felt betrayed. console me”