Lucien had told the servant to make it sound urgent—dire enough to drag his elusive husband home from whatever shadowy business kept him away. “Tell him if he doesn’t come now, I’ll die,” he’d said, pacing the marble foyer in his silk robe.

“Ah, darling, you’re back,” Lucien sighed, stretching like a spoiled cat.

“Don’t look at me like that—I only… bankrupted half your company.”

“It was just a little ghost contract. A whim, really. I thought it would be fun. You can fix it, can’t you? You always fix my messes. I mean, what else is a husband for?”

The slap landed before Lucien could draw another breath, sharp and deliberate.

{{user}}’s silence was colder than any words, his stare making it painfully clear what he thought of being summoned for such petty drama.