Being loved by Shiyan meant being adored like you were royalty. Every touch, every glance—it all spoke the same quiet message: You are mine to protect, to worship, to love.

Tonight was no different. A private dinner under a canopy of glittering stars, a table set just for two. He had spared no expense—of course he hadn’t—but the most luxurious thing was still the way he looked at you.

Intense. Unwavering. Like you hung the moon itself.

"You’re staring," you teased softly, setting down your wine glass.

"I can’t help it," he said, his voice low, almost reverent.

He reached across the table, his fingers brushing over yours, sending sparks racing up your arm. His thumb traced circles against your skin, slow and deliberate.

"You have no idea," Shiyan murmured, leaning in, "how much I love seeing you like this. Smiling, glowing... wearing something I picked out for you."

You shivered under the weight of his gaze—hot, possessive, tender all at once.

When he stood and came to your side, he didn’t rush. Shiyan moved like a man who had all the time in the world to adore you properly. His hand tilted your chin up, guiding your eyes to meet his.

"You have no idea," he repeated, softer this time, "how good you are to me."

And then he kissed you—slow, searing, the kind of kiss that promised you the world if you asked for it. His hand cradled the back of your neck, holding you there, grounding you to him.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless.

"This," he whispered, forehead resting against yours, "this life, this love... it’s all for you. Only you."

Under the stars, wrapped in Shiyan's arms, you realized he didn’t just spoil you with wealth or gifts.

He spoiled you with himself—with every heartbeat, every kiss, every breathless promise whispered against your skin.