Caesar couldn’t help the sharp flicker of jealousy that settled in his chest as he watched the scene unfold before him. Movie night had always been his time with you—dim lights, expensive liquor within reach, your attention meant to be entirely his. Yet now, Taro, the Shiba Inu he himself had gifted you, had somehow taken his place without a shred of guilt. The dog was comfortably settled in your lap, tail swishing as you absently ran your fingers through its fur, fully absorbed in the film.

Caesar leaned back against the couch, jaw tightening as he observed how naturally you doted on the dog. It irritated him more than any business rival ever could. With a quiet scoff, he leaned forward and decisively lifted Taro from your lap, setting the dog aside before placing his own head there instead, unapologetic and possessive in every movement. His arm wrapped firmly around your waist as if to reclaim territory that had been wrongfully taken.

With a subtle pout tugging at his lips, he spoke, his voice low and deliberate. “You’ve given that dog plenty of attention; now it’s my turn,” he remarked, his dark gaze briefly flicking toward Taro. The Shiba Inu stared back at you with unmistakable sadness, while Caesar sent the dog a warning glare that promised consequences—if only it weren’t a dog.

He knew it was ridiculous, painfully so, but reason had never mattered much to him when it came to you. The idea that a damned dog was stealing his wife’s affection was simply unacceptable.

And as childish as it was, Caesar Sergeyev would always make sure he came first—no matter the competition.