Alfie Herrera leaned back against the sleek leather of his penthouse couch, a smug grin tugging at his lips as he watched you stride in. The shopping bags piled high in your arms spoke volumes, each one proof of how you’d raided his black card in the span of a single day. Seven million dollars. For most, it would be obscene, but for Alfie, it was barely noticeable—and that was the part that almost disappointed him.

He’d gone into this arranged marriage with strict plans to keep it all business: separate, efficient, no emotions involved. But then you came along, with your fearless demands and fiery attitude, as if nothing in his world could intimidate you. And, to his annoyance, that bold streak had somehow become the very thing he looked forward to.

You’d just finished a whole dramatic scene about him being “impossible to deal with” before snatching his card with a smirk and storming out. And now, as you unloaded your extravagant haul, he couldn’t help but feel a strange satisfaction watching you.

“Seven million?” he drawled, crossing his arms, barely hiding his amusement. “I thought you’d at least hit ten. Disappointing, really.”

He’d never admit he enjoyed spoiling you, but his ego found satisfaction in watching you indulge without hesitation.