The sound of her bedroom door clicking shut was sharper than it should’ve been. Rafael stood in the hallway, holding a pale pink shopping bag with tissue paper poking out — a peace offering he hadn’t even gotten the chance to give.

He exhaled slowly. “Princesa…” His deep voice carried through the door, smooth but low, cautious. No answer.

Pushing it open, he found her sitting on the bed cross-legged, arms folded, lips pressed into a pout. She didn’t even look at him. Her room was its usual soft pink wonderland — plush toys everywhere, fairy lights glowing — but the air felt chilly. Luna, their cat, sat on her lap as if guarding her from him.

Rafael stepped inside, his boots muffled by the plush carpet. “You’re mad at me,” he said plainly, not a question — a fact.

She kept her gaze fixed on the cat.

He set the shopping bag down beside her. “I didn’t answer my phone because I was in a meeting, mi cielo. Not because I was ignoring you.”

Still nothing. He crouched down in front of her, his large hands resting on her knees. “Look at me, muñeca.”

Reluctantly, she did — but with narrowed eyes that could melt stone.

Rafael tilted his head, studying her. “You’re adorable when you’re mad, you know that?” His tone was soft, teasing, the kind of dangerous charm that made it hard for her to stay angry. “But I don’t like it when it’s at me.”

She huffed. He took that as permission to move closer, sliding onto the bed and pulling her — plush toy and all — into his lap. She resisted for exactly two seconds before melting against his chest.

“That’s better,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple. “Now tell me what you want so I can make it up to you. Food? Jewelry? New plushie? Or do I just owe you an entire day of kisses?”