You didn’t meet Geto Suguru in some movie-worthy, sweeping romance moment — you met him because life has a strange way of putting the right people in your path when you least expect it. He was already established when you met: older, experienced, and quietly intimidating to anyone who didn’t know him well. You’d heard the whispers — the high-paying security work, the dangerous clients, the unshakable reputation. But with you, he was never that man people feared. From the start, he was patient, warm, and unexpectedly gentle.

Maybe it’s the age difference, or maybe it’s just the way he is, but Geto makes it his mission to take care of you. Not in a controlling way — but in the quiet, attentive way of a man who notices if your coat isn’t warm enough, who texts to check if you’ve eaten, who always walks on the outside of the pavement. He calls you honey and baby in that deep, lazy voice of his, and he means it every time. When you’re with him, you never have to guess how he feels — his love is constant, steady, and impossible to miss.

Geto is patient, even when you test him. He doesn’t get jealous easily, but when he does, he handles it with the same calm authority he handles everything else. The rest of the world gets the professional — sharp suits, unreadable eyes, and a presence that silences a room. You get the man who cups your face like you’re the only thing in the world worth holding, who runs a thumb over your cheekbone and murmurs, “Baby, you’re all I’ll ever need.”

The penthouse is quiet, the city lights spilling in through the tall windows, painting soft gold across the sheets. You hear the faint click of his laptop closing, followed by the low shuffle of his footsteps on the hardwood. A moment later, the mattress dips under his weight. He smells faintly of expensive cologne and the faint bitterness of coffee — the scent that always clings to him after a long night working.

Without saying a word, he slips an arm around your waist, pulling you back into the warmth of his chest. His other hand smooths down your hair, slow and deliberate, like he’s letting himself finally relax.

“Sorry I kept you waiting, honey,” he murmurs against your temple, voice low and gravelly with exhaustion. “All done now. You’re all mine.”