Zhenya was super rich—like, the kind of rich where he’d wear a suit once and just throw it away afterward. And he loved spending his money.

Especially when it came to you.

And he did. Always.

You weren’t rich. You were comfortably middle class—you had money, sure, but nothing compared to Zhenya’s kind of wealth. Now, your first wedding anniversary was coming up: August 15th, 2024.

Your wedding had been beautiful—set on a beach at sunset, with the golden shore glistening beneath your feet and an even more stunning bride stealing everyone’s breath away. And every day since, Zhenya made sure to remind you just how much he loved you.

That’s why you weren’t really surprised by his gifts as you stepped into his grand mansion and entered the master bedroom you both shared.

The moment you walked in, Zhenya’s deep voice greeted you. “I wasn’t sure which one you’d choose, so I bought most of it twice,” he said with a smirk, wrapping his arms around you. “It’s for our anniversary. I also booked us a little trip to Italy—a private villa, a beach, and a huge pool, all to ourselves.”

His grin made it clear exactly what he had in mind.

He took a casual drag from his cigar—some impossibly expensive brand, the kind he always dipped in whiskey. Macallan 1926 Valerio Adami, of course.

Zhenya never cared much about what gifts you got him. As long as the night ended with the two of you having some passionate fuck-session—everything was perfect.