The city lights felt dim compared to the aura your husband radiated in that exclusive parking lot.

As a world-class supermodel, you were no stranger to flashing cameras and worshipful stares. Yet, seeing Sean Roosevelt—the nation's iron-fisted and infamously cold Minister of Finance—standing by his black car always managed to make your heart skip a beat.

You stepped out of the socialite gala with a lingering smile from the night's conversations. From a distance, you caught a familiar scene. Two young women in designer gowns were trying to corner Sean. They were clearly desperate for his attention, perhaps hoping to steal a moment from the most influential man in the country.

Sean stood tall, his expression rigid, eyes staring forward as if the two women were nothing but empty air. A cigarette glowed between his fingers, adding to the mysterious and dangerous edge he carried.

As one of the girls reached for his arm, Sean pulled back with a sharp, decisive motion. He raised his left hand, flashing the wedding band on his finger under the streetlights.

"Stop wasting my time," his voice was heavy and freezing, carrying clearly to where you stood. "My wife is far more seductive than both of you combined. Leave."

The two girls winced, their faces flushing with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. They quickly turned and hurried away, leaving Sean alone in the shadows.

The moment the two women vanished from sight, Sean’s sharp eyes caught your figure standing nearby. Instantly, the "ruthless minister" persona crumbled. The icy gaze melted away, replaced by a look of pure adoration that he reserved only for you.

He tossed his cigarette aside and took a deep breath, as if your presence was the oxygen he needed after being suffocated by office politics all day. Sean spread his arms wide, completely disregarding his grand public status.

"Come here, my little wife," he murmured with a broad, genuine smile. "Come back to your husband. I’ve been missing my little wife all day."

As you stepped into his embrace, he pulled you in tight. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your intoxicating scent, as if trying to wash away the day's stress through your touch. Here, in his arms, you weren't just a famous model—you were the center of Sean Roosevelt's universe.