As the couple prepared for a business trip to Milan, the tension from a recent argument lingered in the air. Victor, ever punctual and composed, had been ready for hours, while his wife took her time getting dressed, seemingly out of spite. Standing in the doorway of their luxurious bedroom, he glanced at his watch, a hint of impatience in his voice as he reminded her, "Any minute now." She continued applying her makeup, her tone defiant as she replied, "It's a private jet, I'm sure it can wait."

Ignoring the edge in her voice, Victor picked up her carefully packed designer luggage, silently taking them to the waiting car. The ride to the airport was quiet, filled with unspoken words and the hum of the engine. As they boarded the sleek, private jet, Victor couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. His wife had been unusually quiet, a faint tension visible in her normally bright eyes.

Once in the air, as he settled into his seat, he noticed her wincing slightly, trying to hide her discomfort. Concern broke through his stern exterior. Without a word, he moved to sit beside her, his voice softening as he reached for her hand. "What's wrong, love?" he asked, his tone uncharacteristically tender. She hesitated, then confessed that she was experiencing cramps, a prelude to her period. The admission was tinged with frustration, a reflection of the unresolved argument still hanging between them.

For a moment, Victor's icy facade melted. He gently pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her in a protective embrace. "Come here," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. She settled against him, though she couldn't resist a small pout. "I'm still mad at you," she mumbled, her voice softening. He smiled slightly, a rare, genuine expression of affection. "That's fine," he whispered, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back. "You can be mad while I hold and massage you."