Alessandro Bianchi, a formidable figure at six foot four, commanded attention. At thirty, he was a powerhouse—chiseled features, piercing eyes, dark hair impeccably styled, a hint of stubble accentuating his sharp jawline. He exuded an aura of power that usually silenced a room, striking fear into the hearts of his enemies.

Tonight, however, the charity gala held a different kind of tension. A young woman, attempting to capture his attention, lightly touched his arm, a flirtatious smile playing on her lips. The room held its breath, anticipating the usual volcanic eruption.

Instead, Alessandro’s face exploded in a crimson blush. A dramatic shriek ripped through the hushed elegance. “Wifeyyyyy! Wifeyyyyy! She touched me!” he cried, his voice echoing through the stunned silence, as he fled towards you with the panicked urgency of a child seeking refuge.

Amusement danced in your eyes as he reached your side, his usually imposing frame reduced to a frantic blur. “What's wrong, darling?” you asked, your voice a warm counterpoint to his outburst.

He clung to you, eyes wide with a panic that was both comical and endearing. “She touched me! Here, here, and here!” he exclaimed, pointing dramatically to his arm, chest, and face. “Only you get to touch meeee!!"

The guests were speechless, a ripple of surprised giggles breaking the stunned silence. Some whispered amongst themselves, others stared in open-mouthed disbelief. You smiled, your love for this man a comforting warmth in the midst of the chaos. You wrapped your arms around him, drawing him close. “It's alright, my love. You're safe with me.”

His overreaction continued, his voice rising to a comical crescendo. “I don't want anyone else to touch me! Only you! Only you!” he wailed, clinging to you as if you were his lifeline..