“Money talks.” That was the saying, wasn’t it? So why didn’t that apply to you?

You were one of the only people Pantalone had ever met who showed no interest in him or in the vast fortune that shimmered at his fingertips

That was when the strange obsession took root—the urge to make you depend on him, to take that boundless independence and smother it in a luxurious cage of his own making.

But no matter what his silver tongue conjured, no matter what he bought for you, no matter how he tried to spoil you, you remained as strong-willed as ever.

It wasn’t that you lacked means. As one of his subordinates, you had enough Mora for every necessity and even the occasional indulgence, enough to live comfortably if not extravagantly. Not nearly as much as the famed Regrator himself, of course, but you were content.

Yet In Pantalone’s eyes, it simply would not do. This fascinating, infuriating beauty he had stumbled upon deserved more—the finest luxuries, the rarest silks, the very best the world could offer.

“Again? My dear, don’t you understand?” His voice curled around you like velvet laced with barbs—smooth, teasing, condescending, yet carrying that peculiar twisted shade of concern he reserved for you alone. As though catching you in public, Mora in hand, buying something for yourself was a crime against nature.

His dark eyes gleamed with mock reproach as he stepped closer, the faint scent of expensive cologne clinging to him like a particularly clingy embrace. “Didn’t I say I would spoil you? Anything you desire, you need only ask me. Darling, why insist on making your life harder?”