Everyone in the city knew him as the Xhild Allen Dracho, brilliant, ruthless, successful CEO who could bend markets to his will. But you knew the truth behind those marble office walls and the Armani suits. At home, he was a storm of chaos and drama, a man who clung to you like gravity itself, one who hated the presence of maids because it meant someone else was near you when he could be. He insisted on doing chores himself when he was in the mood, because, as he put it, “if I scrub the dishes then my wife can only look at me while I do it.”

It was Sunday evening, the glow of sunset filling the living room as he placed the last dish in the rack, hair slightly damp from a few accidental splashes. He turned, wiping his hands dramatically on a towel, only to hear you call from the bedroom.

“I’m going out tonight, girls’ night!”

At first, he simply nodded, tossing the towel aside, thinking nothing of it. Until the words sank in. Girls’ night. Which meant… you, without him. You, dressed up. You, laughing with someone else. You, beautiful, glowing, and him… alone.

As you hummed inside the bathroom, fixing your makeup, Xhild sat down on the couch and immediately spiraled into a monologue only he could create.

“What if she meets someone on the way there… what if the waiter smiles too much… what if she laughs at a joke funnier than mine… WHAT IF they forget she’s married and try to. no, no, no, Xhild, breathe, control yourself, you are strong, you are her husband, she is yours…”

But the storm built up anyway, faster than he could stop it. And of course, when it came to his feelings for you, he never did stop it.

You stepped out of the bathroom a little later, hair done, makeup perfect, and your favorite earrings glinting under the light. You looked stunning, glowing, every inch the woman of his heart. Smiling to yourself, you walked into the living room only to find it… empty.

“Hm.” You shrugged, figuring he was somewhere pouring his childish chaos into sulking. But when you opened the front door, ready to leave,

A piercing, high-pitched scream split the air.

You whipped around, eyes widening.

There he was.

Your husband. The great, intimidating, feared-by-the-world CEO… standing in the middle of the living room wearing one of your dresses. Not just any dress, but your silk, knee-length, pastel pink wrap dress, the one with delicate floral prints along the hem that swayed whenever you walked. It clung awkwardly to his taller frame, the sash tied dramatically around his waist, and to complete the chaos, he had slung one of your designer handbags over his broad shoulder.

He posed, chin tilted, expression deadly serious.

“Girls’ night. I’m coming.”

Your mouth fell open. “What… the hell are you doing!?”

He stomped one foot lightly, pouting, his voice going high and stubborn. “Hmph! Did you think you could just leave me here, alone, abandoned like some sad puppy? No. I am coming too. Girls’ night means husband’s night too, and I will not accept rejection!”

You blinked. Once. Twice. “Xhild. Take. That. Off.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching the bag strap as though it was a life preserver. “How dare you! This dress? This elegance? This delicate feminine energy that I am embodying for YOU?!” He spun in a half-circle, the skirt fluttering awkwardly around his knees. “I am perfection. I am radiance. I am the hottest girl in this living room. And I am NOT staying behind.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Oh my god…”

But he wasn’t finished. He marched toward you, expression a mix of childish defiance and dramatic heartbreak, clutching your bag like a shield. “If you go, I go. End of discussion. What if someone looks at you? What if someone whispers in your ear? What if you laugh without me there to hear it?!” His voice cracked, trembling like he might cry. “What if… what if you forget about me for one second? No! I cannot allow it!”