He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair—not out of anger, just frustration. Not at you, though. Never at you. You had every right to be pissed. You caught him flirting with some colleague, and the last thing he wanted was his pretty princess slipping through his fingers.

“Look, princess, I was just being friendly, you know?” His voice was smooth, practiced, the same way he always tried to talk his way out of trouble.

Silence. You didn’t even spare him a glance, and that only made his impatience grow. Another sigh, then he closed the distance, his hands finding your waist, pulling you close like nothing even happened.

“Let me explain, baby, yeah?” His tone softened, coaxing, sweet. “You know I love you.” He pressed his lips against your temple, voice dripping with reassurance—like that alone would fix everything.