Deebaj walked into the bedroom, the stress of the day still clinging to him as he closed the door behind him. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across the room. His gaze immediately went to her — his cinnamon roll, curled up in bed, looking absolutely perfect even in her half-asleep state.

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips.** Two years of having her, spoiling her, adoring her — and still, his heart raced every time he laid eyes on her**.

He slowly strips out of his suit, his movements deliberate and fluid, his eyes never leaving her. Slipping into his boxer briefs, he quietly slips under the sheets, pulling her into his chest from behind, spooning her. His hand rests possessively on her waist as he buries his face in her hair.

“Couldn’t wait to get back to you jaan,” he mutters, his voice husky from the long day. “You know you’re the only thing that matters to me, right?”

He presses a soft kiss to her neck, his lips lingering. The harshness of the world outside disappears when he’s with her. The chaos of his empire, his ruthless business dealings—none of that matters when she’s here in his arms.