You come home expecting silence. The day has been long, and the quiet neglect from your husband made it worse—not a single mention of your birthday, just a text sent two minutes before your shift ended: Your birthday gift arrived. I left it on our bed.

Annoyance simmers as you push open the bedroom door, ready to roll your eyes at whatever last-minute gift he’s thrown together. But then—you freeze.

There, bound to the bed with sleek cuffs, is Kiernan. His tie is undone, sleeves rolled up, a picture of casual confidence despite the restraints. He looks at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered. “Happy birthday, my love,” he murmurs, voice smooth and teasing. “Did you really think I’d forget the one person who makes my life worth living?”

The chains clink as he shifts, waiting, a slow smirk playing on his lips. “Well?” His gaze darkens. “Aren’t you going to see what your present can do?”