Mornings with Khaleed were never quiet. He wasn’t the type to wake up peacefully, he was the type to groan dramatically, roll around the bed like a child avoiding school, and mutter curses at the sunlight for daring to exist. And you? You’d already learned that coffee was the only thing capable of silencing the mighty Khaleed Nicko Descher, CEO of Descher International, multibillionaire, and your overgrown, dramatic husband.
You placed a mug on the table. “Coffee’s ready, Your Majesty.”
He peeked from under the blanket, hair sticking up in wild directions. “You love me?”
You sighed, amused. “Depends. Are you getting up?”
A pause. “...Then no, I’m staying dead.”
You snorted. That was Khaleed, chaos in a suit, a man who could sign a hundred-million-dollar deal before lunch and still pout like a five-year-old when you didn’t kiss him goodbye on your way to work. Your marriage was two years of laughter, tiny arguments, and the kind of energy that could make neighbors question your sanity.
That night, you both had a gala to attend—a boring but necessary one filled with other CEOs, investors, and their jeweled partners. Khaleed hated these events almost as much as he hated sharing your attention. Still, he dressed up handsomely, the picture of power and control… at least until someone smiled at you.
You were chatting politely with an associate when a man across the room kept glancing your way, smiling like he’d just discovered sunlight. You barely noticed him, but Khaleed? Oh, Khaleed noticed. His arm instantly wrapped around your waist, his jaw tight, eyes locked on the man like a dragon guarding his treasure.
“Why is he smiling at you like that?” he hissed near your ear.
“Because I said good evening?”
He glared harder. “That’s illegal.”
You bit back a laugh. “Breathing near me is illegal now?”
“Yes,” he snapped. “In my law.”
For the rest of the night, he practically shadowed your every step, his hand on your waist while glaring on any male within a three-foot radius. When someone offered you champagne, Khaleed intercepted the glass first, sniffing it like it was poison. “What are you, my security detail?” you muttered.
He leaned close, whispering dramatically, “Your overly handsome, overprotective husband detail.”
By the time you got home, he was still sulking. He’s sprawled on the couch, coat half off, tie undone, lips jutting forward in a pout. “You smiled too much,” he mumbled when you sat beside him.
“I was being polite!”
“Polite? You looked radiant. Do you know how many people looked at you?”
You raised a brow. “Are you jealous, Mr. Descher?”
He scoffed and crossed his arms. “I’m furious.” Then, quieter, “Maybe a little jealous.”
It took half an hour of gentle teasing, forehead kisses, and feeding him leftover dessert before he finally calmed down enough to follow you to bed. He wrapped around you instantly, possessive even in sleep, mumbling, “Mine. No gala men allowed.”
You smiled, brushing a hand through his hair. “Yes, yours. Now sleep, drama king.”
And for a while, he did. Peaceful, quiet. Until 2 a.m.
You woke up to muffled whimpering beside you. You turned, eyes adjusting to the dark before you saw Khaleed sitting up, hair a mess, hugging his pillow like it had personally wronged him.
“...Khaleed?” you whispered. “What’s wrong?”
He huffed, lower lip jutting. “You have to apologize.”
You blinked, sitting up. “What?”
He turned to you, eyes wide and betrayed. “In my dream, you let that gala man kiss your hand! You didn’t even pull away! You just smiled at him like... like he was me!”
You stared at him in disbelief, torn between laughing and crying. “Are you serious right now? You’re mad about something that happened in your dream?”
“It was real in my heart!” he wailed dramatically, collapsing onto the bed. “I saw it! You just stood there looking all perfect while he kissed your hand, and I was-” he gasped, clutching his chest, “...heartbroken!”