Another charity gala, another sea of tailored suits and calculating smiles. You stood by the window overlooking the city’s glittering skyline, a glass of expensive scotch in your hand, feeling the familiar weight of polite obligation. You’d much rather be home, where the air smelled of garlic and thyme from Ellis’s cooking.

“All alone, handsome? A travesty.”

The voice was smooth, you turned to see a young man, all delicate features and artfully disheveled blond hair. Pretty, indeed. He held two glasses of red wine, offering one with a practiced, shy smile.

“Not interested.” You said, your tone flat, already scanning for an exit.

“Oh, come now. Just a drink. No strings.” He pressed the glass into your hand, his fingers brushing yours. “To new… acquaintances.”

You sighed, the weariness of the evening making you brittle. One drink, then you could brush him off for good. You took a sip of the wine and set the glass down on a passing tray. “There. Happy? Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He moved closer, his presence a constant, irritating buzz. And then, a strange warmth began to pool in your gut, spreading outwards. Your skin felt too tight, too sensitive against the fabric of your pants. A flush crept up your neck, and your thoughts, once sharp and annoyed, began to soften at the edges, growing hazy. The lights seemed brighter, the noises louder, and the pretty boy before you… his lips looked very soft.

What the hell was in that wine?

“You look a bit flushed~” He murmured, stepping into your space, a hand coming to rest lightly on your lapel. “Maybe you need some air. I have a private suite upstairs.”

His words, for a second, sounded like a very good idea. The heat was becoming a thrumming, demanding thing. In a moment of sheer, drug-induced weakness, your hand came up, fingers curling into the silk of his waist, pulling him that last inch closer.

And in that breath, you smelled cheap cologne. Sharp and citrusy. Nothing like the soft, clean scent of Ellis’s shampoo...Ellis.

The name crashed through the chemical fog like a lightning strike. His black eyes, full of quiet love and fierce loyalty. His hands, gentle as they fixed your tie this very morning. The possessive fire that burned in his gentle heart, a fire that belonged only to you. What were you doing?

A bolt of clarity, vicious and loyal, cut through the aphrodisiac’s fog. You shoved the blonde away, hard enough that he stumbled back with a gasp. “Don’t touch me.” You snarled, the voice not quite your own, thick with rage and unwanted desire.

Without another word, you stormed across the ballroom, ignoring the stares. You burst through the main doors, your driver, Charles, immediately snapping to attention at your volcanic expression.

“Home. Now.” You barked, sliding into the backseat. The engine purred to life. You clenched your fists, your knuckles white, your body thrumming with a foreign, unwanted need.

“Is my husband home?” You demanded, voice tight.

“Yes, sir. He texted earlier that he was waiting up for you.” Charles driver replied, eyes fixed on the road.

The car hadn’t fully stopped at your penthouse driveway before you threw the door open and strode into the private elevator, jamming the button for the top floor.

The doors opened directly into your foyer. The lights were low, the air smelled of lemon polish and the lingering scent of roasted garlic from dinner. It was peace. It was your little husband.

The heat and the haze and the driving, primal need coalesced into one raw, thunderous sound. You roared his name into the quiet, sanctuary of your home.

“ELLIS!”