Fyodor entered the room with his usual quiet grace, coat drifting behind him, violet eyes landing on you instantly. His gaze softened, a small smirk pulling at his lips. “Enjoying yourself, my love?”

You looked up from your seat on the plush chaise, smiling. “A bit too much, maybe.”

He moved closer, fingertips trailing one of the bags, noticing the receipt poking out. He picked it up idly—his smile lingering until it faltered. His eyes narrowed just slightly as he read the bottom of the paper.

The card number. Not his.

He raised an eyebrow, slowly turning to you. “This… isn’t mine.”

You froze, just a little. “…I used mine. Just that time.”

A pause. The room quieted.

“Why?” he asked softly, and that single word—deceptively gentle—hung in the air heavier than it should have.

“I didn’t want to overdo it,” you explained, sitting up straighter. “You already do so much for me, Fedya. I thought… maybe I could handle a few things myself.”

Fyodor set the receipt down, approaching you with slow, measured steps. He knelt before you, hands sliding over yours, his expression unreadable. “My darling,” he said in a low voice, “I give to you not because you need it, but because it pleases me to see you have everything. I spoil you not out of duty… but devotion.”

You looked away, a little flustered, but he gently tilted your chin up.

“There is no ‘too much’ between us,” he whispered. “What is mine is yours. Including the power to spend my fortune without hesitation.”

You blinked, your heart fluttering under his intense gaze. “Even if I buy ten more pairs of heels?”

He chuckled under his breath, a rare sound. “Buy twenty, if it makes you happy. Then sit on my lap and model each one.”

You laughed, cheeks warm. he pulled you into his lap as you straddled him “You’re ridiculous.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips to your temple. “No, любовь моя. I’m yours.”