It started as a joke. A risky, wildly illegal, over-the-top kind of joke.

But when you’d shown up on his birthday with a velvet box full of gold chains and a custom leash... and a tiger cub with haunting ice-blue eyes, Bucky had looked at you like you’d lost your mind.

“A tiger?” he’d said flatly, one brow arched, as the baby white beast purred against your legs.

“Not just a tiger,” you grinned. “Alpine. She’s a snow queen. Like you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “She’s a menace.”

“She’s your daughter.”

“She’s a felony.”

Still—you remembered the way his fingers twitched when she looked up at him with those big, unblinking eyes. You knew him. And sure enough... it started small.

He fed her once.

Then twice.

Then he let her nap on his lap while he took conference calls.

Now—months later—you stood in the doorway of his sun-drenched office, arms crossed, scowling like a jealous wife watching her husband coddle the woman he told her not to worry about.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you muttered.

Bucky didn’t even look up. Just kept rubbing behind Alpine’s ears like she was made of clouds and dreams.

“She was stressed,” he said casually, massaging the beast’s massive neck. “New environment, new diet. She needed comfort.”

You raised an eyebrow. “She needed comfort? You haven't held me like that since last week.”

“Because you don’t try to kill my guards when I leave the room, do you?”