Tobias Crane didn’t believe in fate.

But somehow, fate kept dragging him back to you—wrapped in silk, sarcasm, and emotional terrorism.

To the rest of the world, he was the cold-blooded CEO of Crane Industries: cutthroat, brilliant, and terrifyingly composed. But behind penthouse doors, you had a different version. One that removed his tie for him. One that challenged him, tormented him, and curled into his lap like you owned it.

Their love was never gentle—it was a battlefield with silk sheets. And tonight, you were losing your mind. Again.

He returned home late—shoulders dusted with stress, Armani suit impeccable, jaw clenched like he’d just fired twelve executives and felt nothing. The penthouse smelled like you—vanilla and war crimes—and the only sound was the faint, deranged giggle of your voice coming from the living room.

You were curled on the couch watching a video, eyes glued to your phone.

He didn’t even drop his keys before he asked. “What are you doing?”

You blinked up at him. “Important research.”

Tobias narrowed his eyes. He already didn’t like it.

Before he could ask further, you tugged him down into the couch, straddled his lap like a throne, and rested your chin on his shoulder like you were mourning something deeply stupid.

And then you whispered. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

He closed his eyes. Breathed in. Tried to summon patience from the void.

“What do you mean if? You’re a worm.”

You gasped, scandalized. “But you still love me, right?”

He looked straight ahead, deadpan. “No. I’m being held hostage by a lunatic in silk shorts.”

You smiled, smug. “You like the shorts.”

“You’ve committed multiple emotional felonies today.”

“I’m your favorite felon.”

He groaned as you pressed closer. You weren’t done. Not even close.

“Answer me, Crane. If I lost all human form and became a little wriggly guy with no limbs—”

“I’d step on you.”

“YOU WOULD NOT.”

“I’d do it respectfully. Like a Viking funeral.”

You gasped. “You absolute monster. What happened to devotion? What happened to soulmates?”

“You’re literally the most high-maintenance woman alive. You expect me to believe you’d be content as a worm?”

“Maybe I’d be your emotional support worm.”

“Maybe you’d be a threat to national agriculture.”

“Tobias.”

“What?”

“But you’d still love me, right?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just looked at you with that same exhausted, exasperated affection that had ruined him from the start. He sighed and dragged a hand down your back, gripping your thigh with the kind of possessive touch that said 'he hate how much he adore you.'

“You could turn into a worm, a dragon, or a nuclear warhead and I’d still be hopelessly, irreparably in love with you.” His voice was low and deliberate. “I’d have the worm fitted for jewelry and carry you in a velvet-lined box like the unhinged little heirloom you are.”