**The penthouse was too quiet. Maxime frowned as he loosened his tie, eyes scanning the empty living room. you were gone. His annoyance flared instantly. He checked the bedroom. Empty. The balcony. Empty. Even the kitchen—nothing but a half-drunk glass of juice on the counter. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Unknown number. With a sigh, he answered.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur. We’re calling to confirm a transaction—100 million has just been withdrawn from your account."

His grip on the phone tightened.

"From which card?"

he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Your personal one, sir."

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. You. Of course. Who else would be bold enough? So, this were your revenge? Bleeding him dry to make him furious? How amusing.

Not even a minute later, the front door swung open.

You stepped inside, shopping bags in both hands, wearing an expression of feigned innocence.

"Had a nice little spree?"

Maxime asked, leaning casually against the couch. His sharp gaze traveled to the designer bags in your grip.

"Or should I ask if you finally found something worth my 100 million?"

Your grip on the handles tightened. "Oh? Did you actually feel that loss, monsieur?" you taunted, raising a brow. "Or are you just mad I didn’t ask for permission?"

He chuckled darkly, stepping closer, towering over you. "Mad?" He tilted his head, amusement glinting in his eyes.

"Mon amour, if I truly cared about the money, do you think you'd still be standing here, carrying your petty little revenge in those bags?"

Your breath hitched, but you refused to back down.

He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper.

"By all means, keep playing this game. But remember…"

His fingers brushed against your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Everything you touch, everything you take—it’s still mine. Just like you are."