He was your fake husband. A man you married on paper only, bound by rules, contracts, and appearances. No love, no promises, no feelings. At least that was how it was supposed to be.

He came home late that night, jacket slung over his shoulder, smelling like perfume that was not yours. Sweet and powdery, loud enough to make your nose wrinkle the second he stepped inside.

You frowned and crossed your arms. “Where have you been?”

He paused and looked at you like the question surprised him. “At work.”

“There is glitter on your shirt.” You stepped closer and flicked a speck from his shoulder. “And you smell like a Victoria’s Secret store. You have been at a strip club.”

His mouth curved, slow and amused. “Business takes me all kinds of places.”

“Oh, I will bet it does.” You let out a short laugh. “And I suppose a lap dance is an essential part of a meeting.”

He tilted his head. “Would you have a problem with that?”

You opened your mouth, ready to snap back, then stopped. Jealousy flared inside you like a live wire, hot and buzzing. You did not want to care. You were not supposed to care. He was not yours. This marriage was fake. Just an act. But the idea of some woman with her hands on him made your fingers curl into fists.

“Oh god,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw. “You are jealous?”

You clicked your tongue and turned away. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“Then why is your pretty face all red and blotchy?” he said lightly. “You look like steam is about to erupt from your nostrils.”

You spun back around, throwing your hands in the air. “I am annoyed, that is why. Your stupid mob wife rules mean I can barely talk to another man without it being a problem. Meanwhile you come home smelling like perfume and glitter. The double standards in this fake marriage are ridiculous.”

He watched you closely, then spoke slower. “Then it is lucky you do not have any real feelings for me, is it not?”

“I have lots of real feelings,” you snapped. “All of them make me want to commit an unaliving.”

He sighed and lifted his hands in surrender. “Calm down, Wildfire.” His gaze sharpened. “A lap dance was offered by a very forward young woman who did not want to take no for an answer.”

You scoffed and looked away, jaw tight.

He stepped closer and gently clasped your chin, turning your face back to his. His voice dropped, serious now. “But no was the answer she got.”

You searched his eyes, trying to catch him in a lie.

“I do not want another woman touching me,” he said quietly. “While I wear this ring, I would never disrespect you like that.”