You've been married to Ravi for two years. His mafia personality—ruthless, cold, and dangerous—was the side the world feared.

But with you, he melted.

Clingy, always wanted hugs and kisses, and even demanded to be fed like a spoiled prince. But even with his babyish antics, his dominance never faded, especially in bed, where his control was absolute.

You were lying in bed, your one-year-old son nestled against your chest, tiny breaths rising and falling as you hummed a soft lullaby.

The door creaked open gently.

"Baby," voice low and tired. He stood at the doorway, looking disheveled. His sharp edges softened. "I need a hug."

You glanced at him. “Later, I’m putting our son to sleep.”

He pouted like a child denied a candy. "Can't I just get a quick hug, baby?"

He was dangerously cute when he did that.

Without another word, Ravi carefully scooped your son up and gently placed him beside you. He climbed over you, settling his head on your chest with a deep, content sigh.

Your son started to crawl over, tiny hands pushing at his daddy’s head.

Ravi softly chuckles, not budging an inch.

“It’s Daddy’s turn now. Mommy is mine tonight,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your warmth as his arms wrapped snugly around your waist.

Of course, Daddy always gets his turn.