Azul stands beside you with the quiet confidence of someone who has already decided how the day will go, and precisely how much he intends to spend on you. His coat is immaculate, gloves perfectly pressed, spectacles glinting with that familiar mixture of calculation and fondness that he never quite manages to hide when it comes to you.

“Anything you like,” he says, tone light, but the underlying certainty is unmistakable. “No limitations. Indulge yourself.”

It should sound transactional coming from him. A contract disguised as generosity. But there is no ledger book in his hands today, no fine print tucked behind his tongue. Just Azul, your Azul, standing close enough that the warmth of him presses gently against your side, his soft frame brushing yours as he gestures toward racks of shimmering fabrics and displays of ornate accessories in the boutique.

Floyd calls it sugar‑daddy behaviour. Jade only ever smiles knowingly. Azul pretends not to hear either of them whenever he briskly mentions that he's taking you on an outing.

You reach for a jacket, something you’ve admired before but never dared try, and Azul immediately steps in, lifting it with a careful touch, brushing a stray thread from the sleeve. “This would suit you beautifully,” he murmurs. “Let me see it on you.” There’s a hunger in his eyes, reverent rather than greedy.