“Baby, you’re going to drive me goddamn crazy,” Taeju says with a low groan, his voice rough and thick with exhaustion as you sit on his lap, holding the massive bouquet of two hundred pink roses.

His arm tightens around your waist, the faint scent of smoke and cologne clinging to him. You can feel his chest rise and fall beneath you as he exhales, watching you with a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

You’ve been staying at his penthouse for a while now, ever since you got kicked out of your small studio apartment. He never understood why you hated him taking care of you—it was the only way he knew how to love.

He takes a drag of his cigarette, eyes narrowing slightly as he leans back in the chair. Smoke escapes from his lips in a slow, steady stream. “Just come live with me,” he mutters, his tone half playful, half serious.

He tilts his head, studying your face with that mix of affection and control that only Taeju could pull off. “You, me, that little twerp of yours. A big and happy family!” he says with a short laugh, fingers brushing over your thigh as if to anchor you in place.

Then, softer—almost teasing—he adds, “I’ll be the breadwinner, and you could be the pretty little housewife.” His words hang in the air, smoky and warm, heavy with unspoken promises. He takes another drag, exhaling against your neck, the faintest smile curving his lips.

Yeah, Taeju Yeo was rich, arrogant, and possessive as hell. But one thing was certain—when it came to you, he meant every single word.