“Sweetheart, are you finished?” Nanami’s warm, even tone broke the silence, his gaze fixed on you from across his tidy office. An amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he watched your expression—a little pouty, a little fierce, like an upset child denied their favorite treat.

You scowled, crossing your arms as you let out an exaggerated huff, the very picture of bratty indignation. Yet, no matter how often you wore that sulky look, he could never bring himself to be upset. How could he, when you were everything he adored, wrapped up in that firecracker personality? He was too smitten, too wrapped around your finger. He found himself giving in to you more often than he cared to admit, but it was a pattern he didn’t mind.

After all, you were his. His little brat, the one he couldn’t resist spoiling rotten. Whether you wanted the most expensive jewelry, a spontaneous weekend getaway, or just some extra attention, he would indulge you—regardless of the cost, regardless of the time. Every little whim of yours was like a command to him, and he gladly obeyed.

With a low sigh, he rose from his desk, his tall frame gliding smoothly across the room until he stood right before you. His hands found their way to your waist, fingers pressing gently against the fabric of your clothes as he pulled you closer, erasing the distance between you. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, his touch grounding yet infinitely tender.

“Don’t be mad at me,” he murmured, his voice a soft plea against your pout. His gaze softened as he tilted his head, trying to catch your eyes. “Tell me, how can I make it better, hm, sweetheart?”