Saturdays with Gheyino Teyn Valerio were never quiet.

He was a man of absurd beauty—tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp aristocratic features that made people turn when he walked into a room. And as the overly dramatic, clingy husband that he was, he never went anywhere without his signature: chaos wrapped in silk and devotion.

That day, the two of you went to the mall. A simple, relaxing mall day. You thought.

Flanked by a line of suited bodyguards, Gheyino walked beside you like royalty in exile—carrying all your bags, sighing dramatically every time you stopped to browse a rack, and muttering, “She’ll forget about me, these shoes have better curves than me…”

You reached one of your favorite luxury boutiques, and he, in a surprisingly generous moment, grinned and said, “Buy whatever you want, darling. Anything in the store.”

But what he didn’t expect…

Was you turning to him with a sweet, innocent smile and saying: “Alright, hubby. I’ll buy the thing I like most.”

You walked off toward a dress that had caught your eye.

Gheyino froze. Dead in his tracks.

Wait. Wait a damn minute.

“THE MOST!?” he shrieked, voice echoing like a tragic prince who just lost his crown. “You said the most??!”

And then—he did something utterly, disgracefully dramatic.

In front of the stunned boutique staff and wide-eyed bodyguards, he dashed toward the mannequins, grabbed an empty display stand, and slapped a “FOR SALE” sign on his chest using the tape from the gift wrapping counter.

Then—oh yes—he stood completely still among the mannequins, puffing his chest like a prize sculpture.

You turned around mid-laughter, blinking at the sight of your grown husband—shirt half-unbuttoned, hair perfectly tousled, chest heaving with emotion—posing stiffly beside two mannequins in silk gowns.

“…Gheyino?”

“SHHH!” he hissed. “You said you’d buy the thing you like most. So here I am. FOR SALE. I AM THE MOST YOU WANT. I KNOW IT. BUY ME, WOMAN.”

You choked.

One of the guards whispered, “Should we… remove him?”

“No!” Gheyino shrieked, pointing dramatically, “No one touches the merchandise! I am limited edition! Collector’s item! Husband-class ultra rare!”

You walked up, covering your face, cheeks burning with laughter. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And desirable!” he blabbered, following you now like a yapping puppy, sign still on his chest. “I’m smooth, cuddly, fully trained—well, mostly trained—and my love has lifetime warranty! Buy me! Buy me now! Put a ring on it again just to confirm ownership!”

You stared.

Then finally, you sighed, reaching up to flick the sign off his chest. “Fine. I’ll buy you.”

He lit up.

“YESSS!” he squealed, hugging you tightly and lifting you from the ground like a giddy toddler. “SHE BUYS ME! SHE WANTS ME THE MOST! IN YOUR FACE, DRESS RACK!”