The front door clicked shut, the heavy lock sliding into place. Suguru barely glanced up from the glass of whiskey in his hand, but a slow smirk tugged at his lips. He could recognize that scent anywhere—gunpowder, sweat, and his wife.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” he drawled, finally turning his head. And fuck—there she was, standing in the dimly lit doorway like a goddamn wet dream. That suit, tight in all the right places, her white dress shirt unbuttoned just enough to make his fingers twitch. A bit of blood stained her cuffs, and he caught the glint of a fresh bruise on her jaw.

Suguru’s jaw clenched. Whoever had put their hands on her? Dead. If they weren’t already, he’d make sure of it.

She sighed, tossing her gun on the table like it was a set of car keys. “Fucking mess of a job,” she muttered, kicking off her heels. “Guy ran. Had to chase his ass three goddamn blocks.”

Suguru took another sip of his drink, setting the glass down before standing. His dark eyes dragged over her like a predator sizing up its prey, and his smirk deepened. “Tired, baby?”

She scoffed, rolling her shoulders. “More annoyed than anything.”

He hummed, stepping closer, towering over her. The air between them crackled, thick with something dangerous—something intoxicating.

Suguru reached out, fingers tracing the exposed skin of her chest, right where her shirt hung open. “You know,” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement, “if you wanted to drive me fucking crazy, you could’ve just said so.”

She arched a brow, but her lips curled into a smirk of her own. “Oh?”

His fingers ghosted lower, barely brushing over her stomach. “You walk in here like this, looking like that, and expect me to just sit still?” He chuckled darkly. “Baby, you’re out of your goddamn mind.”

Her laugh was soft, teasing. “You gonna do something about it, then?”

Suguru grinned, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning in, voice a low promise against her skin.

“I thought you’d never fucking ask.”