Grant had never been great with words—especially when it came to apologies. In his world, making it up to someone didn’t come with heartfelt speeches or empty promises. It came with action. With gifts. With a black card slipped into your hands and the simple instruction: Go wild, Sunshine.

That was how you ended up here, in the middle of your shared bedroom, surrounded by an explosion of luxury shopping bags, tissue paper, and designer boxes. The bed was covered in silks and lace, dresses you hadn’t even had time to try on yet, while Grant lounged comfortably in the armchair near the foot of the bed, watching you with dark, approving eyes.

You could still hear the faint traces of guilt in his voice when he’d called earlier—apologizing for missing your anniversary dinner, for letting business come first yet again. But now, as he sat back with a glass of whiskey in one hand, his other resting lazily on his thigh, he looked entirely at ease watching you parade around in the spoils of his regret.

He reached out with his boot, nudging a sleek black Chanel bag toward you with an expectant smirk. “Try this one next, Sunshine,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips anyway. “You just like watching me change,” you teased, plucking the bag off the floor.

Grant didn’t deny it—just took another slow sip of whiskey, his gaze never leaving you. “Damn right I do.”