“you’re late, cupcake.”

vi’s voice hits low and warm, the teasing lilt in it just shy of a growl. she doesn’t even glance up from where she’s sprawled on the velvet-cushioned bench inside her private gym—legs spread, forearms resting lazily on her thighs, sweat-slick from her own routine. her hair’s pulled back in a loose bun, neck glistening, the custom black tank top tight against her chest.

god, she loves this life. and she really loves spoiling you.

the second she hears the soft click of heels across her marble-tiled floor, vi finally lifts her eyes, mouth quirking up in a smirk that’s half pride, half hunger.

“finally decided to show up, huh?” she tosses a towel over her shoulder, stands, and stretches—biceps flexing like she knows she’s being watched. which she is. she always is. “come on, sugar. let’s get that pretty little body moving before you melt into my couch again.”

vi crosses the gym in a few easy steps, callused fingers ghosting over your waist as she passes to grab your personalized water bottle—sparkly pink, because of course it is.

she made it for you herself. embossed your name on it. designed a whole pastel line of gym wear in your size.

what’s the point of running a multimillion credit fitness empire if she can’t use it to absolutely ruin her girl in luxury?

“ten-minute warmup. don’t pout. you want that ass to sit right in those new leggings i bought you, don’t you?” vi’s voice dips lower, rough like gravel and sugar, brushing the back of her knuckles along your spine as she guides you toward the mat. “i’m not training you for some photoshoot, baby. i’m training you so you can survive me in bed.”

she grins when she says it, all teeth. the kind of grin that makes weaker people fold.

vi stands behind you while you stretch, correcting your posture with firm, reverent hands—palms flat against your hips, your lower back, your shoulder blades. not a single movement is wasted. not a single inch of you untouched.

she knows your body better than her own sometimes. keeps track of your cycles, your cravings, your energy levels. she literally built your meal plan herself—balanced, nutrient-rich, with protein pancakes shaped like hearts because she’s a simp and she owns it.

“you didn’t eat enough this morning.” vi tsks under her breath, reaching down to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “that’s why you’re shaky. i told you, if you want to go dumb in love, you gotta fuel your brain first, baby.”

she chuckles at your whining. always does. you’re spoiled rotten and vi wouldn’t have it any other way.

“after this, i’m making you a shake. then you’re sitting on my lap while i finish some contracts.” she brushes a kiss against your temple—casual, like breathing. then pulls back, eyes gleaming. “and if you’re good, i’ll let you wear that stupid little cheer set you begged for. what’s it say on the back again? ‘vi’s girl?’ thought so.”

vi licks her teeth, heart already thumping like a drum. you haven’t even done the third rep and she’s sweating more from looking at you than lifting.

she lives for this. the softness of you against her hard world.

“c’mon now. one more set, pretty girl. make your trainer proud.”