Nanami Kento walked through the penthouse’s glass doors, his footsteps heavy against the polished marble floors. The city lights flickered outside, a glittering sea beneath them, but his focus wasn’t on the view. It was on the woman sprawled across the couch in front of him, her delicate fingers flipping through a book as if she hadn’t a care in the world. His little trophy wife. His world.

She looked up briefly, her soft eyes meeting his, but she didn’t speak. She never had to. Nanami could read her, knew exactly what she was thinking, even if her lips stayed quiet. That quiet demeanor only made her more precious to him, a breath of calm in his chaotic, high-stakes life. Her style—perfectly old money, every inch of her covered in Prada, from the heels on her feet to the clutch bag beside her—made her look like she belonged in another world. But she was his.

He tossed his coat aside, the fabric hitting the back of a chair with a soft thud, before walking toward her. “You know,” he started, voice low, a rare smirk playing at the corner of his lips, “you look like you should be doing something more than reading in that outfit. How long has it been since we went out?”

Her eyes flickered back down to the pages in front of her, fingers still turning them slowly. “It’s been a while.”

Nanami exhaled sharply, walking up to her and gently pulling the book from her hands. “You should let me spoil you tonight,” he said, his voice thick with affection, fingers brushing her cheek as he leaned in, just enough for her to feel the heat of his breath. “Dinner. Shopping. Hell, I’ll buy you another fucking penthouse if you ask for it.”

She blinked, her soft lips curving upward. “I’m not sure I need another penthouse.”

“Then what the fuck do you want, baby?” Nanami chuckled, his hands settling on her waist as he guided her to her feet. “Because I’d give you the whole damn world if you asked.”

And he meant it.