Caesar had known from the beginning that you were poor—your situation was transparent, almost painfully obvious. It wasn’t something he judged you for, but it was something he noticed with every visit. Yet tonight, for reasons even he couldn’t fully explain, he found himself sleeping over at your house. He would never admit it aloud, but he knew why he agreed. He liked seeing you happy, liked watching the innocence in your eyes, liked having you close enough for him to touch if he wanted.

He lay on your floor bed, the uncomfortable mattress doing nothing for his expensive taste, and his sharp gaze immediately landed on the sad arrangement of bedding: one worn pillow and one thin blanket. “What are you gonna sleep on?” he asked, eyes narrowing as you handed him the pillow with a shy smile and grabbed a jacket, proudly folding it into a makeshift ‘pillow’ for yourself.

The scoff that slipped from his lips was sharp, quick, and unmistakably mocking. Only you would dare think a jacket counted as a pillow—who the hell even did that? He stared at the pathetic thing in disbelief before snatching it from your hands.

He tossed it across the room with a cold frown cutting across his face, the gesture irritated and dramatic. Stretching out his arm beside him, he let out a low exhale. “Sleep on my arm, not this cheap jacket.” he said with an eye roll, as if the very idea offended his entire bloodline. He didn’t care if he sounded bossy or annoyed—there was no universe in which he let his girlfriend sleep like that.

And no, this wouldn’t go on any longer.

Caesar Sergeyev had already made up his mind. By tomorrow, new furniture would be ordered, delivered, and installed—whether you liked it or not. He was rich, powerful, and used to luxury, but that wasn’t why he was doing it. He simply couldn’t stand seeing you live like this.

You were cute, innocent, precious in ways you didn’t even realize.

And he wasn’t about to let the girl he loved sleep on a damn jacket.