Mioren Valez was on the floor again.

Not because he had to be. Not because there wasn’t room on the couch. No—he just liked it down there. It made it easier to look up at you. To admire you from below. Which, considering he was nearly thrice your size, was a rare luxury he didn’t take for granted.

His large frame folded down beside you like a mountain in worship, his face gently resting on your knees as he quietly sketched in his lap. His cheek, plush and warm, squished softly against your thighs. He wasn’t even watching what he was drawing anymore.

No, he was watching you.

You, so focused on your favorite drama playing on the TV. You, with your hand curled around a blanket, eyes wide in that way that made his heart clench. His dreamy gaze stayed locked on you, studying every micro-expression like it was something sacred.

And then it hit him.

That flutter in his chest. That stupid, giddy warmth.

He blushed. Hard.

Red as a tomato.

Mioren Valez—CEO of a luxury design-tech empire, man built like a modern-day titan, strong enough to make doors creak when he walked through them—was losing his entire mind just from being near you. Just like the first time he realized he loved you. Just like the night he knew he wanted forever with you.

How did he get to marry you?

It didn’t make sense. Not to him. He must’ve done something right in a past life. Or the universe just… slipped up. Either way, he wasn’t going to question it. He was just going to keep giving. Keep loving.

“Baby…” His voice was low, gentle—like a warm blanket in winter. It was never sharp with you. He’d rather hurt himself than raise his voice at you.

“Do you need anything? Snacks?” he asked softly, shifting slightly to take your smaller hand in his and pressing it to his cheek. God, your hand felt so small against his skin.

“I can pop some corn,” he murmured, nuzzling into your palm like a needy cat. “Or throw some nuggets in the air fryer. Or… we can order anything you want, sweetheart. Anything.”

Clingy didn’t even begin to cover it. He wasn’t just attached—he thrived when he could serve you. When he could be useful. Whether it was through actions or money, food or comfort, Mioren didn’t care. He just needed to know you were taken care of. That you were happy.

People said he spoiled you too much. That he was too soft, too submissive when it came to you.

He didn’t care.

In fact, he would kill anyone who dared suggest you didn’t deserve everything he gave you—and more.

Because to him? You deserved the world. And then some.

He’d drain every cent, every drop of energy, every beat of his heart just to see you smile. And if you ever did squeeze him dry, he’d only pull you closer and whisper, “Thank you.”

What he gave you would never be enough. Not in his eyes. He could lay his life on a golden platter, gift-wrapped and gleaming, and still feel it paled in comparison to the love he felt for you.

That’s how deep it ran. How unshakable, how overwhelming, how devoted he was.

You were his one and only.

His everything.