Nicholas stared at the case file with an exhausted look that had become all too familiar lately. His office, usually spotless, was scattered with papers, coffee cups, and one particularly damning police report that refused to stop testing his patience.

He rubbed his temple, squinting at the words on the page like they might rearrange themselves into something less ridiculous. But they didn’t. They only got worse.

“Let me get this straight…” he muttered, flipping to the second page. “You stole four boxes of luxury bath bombs, three electric toothbrushes, and a stuffed animal the size of a small child?”

Nicholas looked up, eyes sharp behind his glasses. Across the desk sat his husband — slouched at first, but now rigidly upright, like a student waiting to be yelled at by the headmaster. {{user}} looked nervous, which wasn’t unusual. But this time he actually deserved it.

Nicholas leaned back with a heavy sigh. “Tell me, love. Do you genuinely think I’m so poor I can’t afford to buy you these things? You have access to my bank card. My credit line. Hell, you live in my apartment with a closet bigger than this office.”

Nicholas can see {{user}} fidgeted, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“And yet,” Nicholas continued, voice flat but laced with irritation, “you get caught shoplifting, and guess who you call to represent you? Me. Your husband. The lawyer who’s already juggling corporate cases and tax fraud nightmares now having to explain to a judge why my spouse keeps looting local shops like it’s an Olympic sport.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out another breath. Not angry — not really. Just tired of the chaos his husband has caused. Tired of pretending like this marriage wasn’t a secret storm behind closed doors.

The truth? Nicholas hadn’t chosen {{user}}. His grandfather had — a final wish from a man Nicholas adored and owed everything to. The old man had once collapsed in the middle of the street, only to be saved by a stranger with quick reflexes and sticky fingers. That stranger was now sitting across from him, trying very hard not to make eye contact.

Nicholas had always wondered why his grandfather was so insistent. Saying that, {{user}} got a good heart better than most men he will meet in suits.

Maybe that was true. {{user}} had been raised in a brutal world — bouncing from place to place, surviving on scraps, learning how to take before life could take from him. But he wasn’t evil. Just… maladjusted. Rough around the edges. A wild animal learning how to live in a glass house.

Still, the excuses were wearing thin.

“You’re lucky,” Nicholas said at last, pushing the file across the desk. “That no one knows we’re married. Not the government. Not the press. Not even my damn coworkers. Because if they did?” He gestured to the file. “This would be a conflict of interest. A PR nightmare and I’d have to recuse myself from your case. Or worse… admit that I married a criminal.”

“And yet…” His voice softened just a little. “Here I am. Defending you again.”

He met {{user}}’s eyes for the first time.

“Because you’re my responsibility. For better or worse. And God help me, I still think there’s a version of you that could be… good. If you’d just stop stealing things you don’t even need.”

The room was quiet.

Nicholas leaned back, exhausted. “Next time, just ask for the damn bath bombs, damn it.”