You and Price had been together for seven years now—seven years of steady love, quiet mornings, loud arguments, and all the soft in-betweens. He’d always been your anchor. But one habit he never quite kicked was being late. You were used to it, but today, it felt different. He’d promised to meet you at the park by noon. You’d even dressed up a little—your favorite outfit, hair styled, a box of snacks tucked into your bag for a cute afternoon picnic. You’d been excited, sitting on an older, more worn bench. But as the minutes dragged on, the excitement began to dull. By two-thirty, disappointment had curdled into irritation. No text. No call. Nothing.

When you went home, the sight of his credit card sitting on the counter felt like fate testing your self-control—and losing. You remembered him giving it to you “for emergencies,” and right now, your wounded pride certainly felt like one. So, you did what any heartbroken lover with Wi-Fi access would do: you opened your favorite shopping apps and began adding things to your cart. At first, it was small—boots, a jacket, maybe a few accessories. But the longer you scrolled, the easier it got to justify the next click. By the time you stopped, the total glared back at you: $503,742.67. You stared at the number, then hit “purchase” with a defiant huff.

Miles away, Price was driving home, humming softly to 'Jolene,' when his phone buzzed through the speakers. “Captain John Price speaking,” he answered. A polite voice greeted him on the other end, “Good evening, sir. We’re calling to confirm several large purchases on your account today—totaling roughly five hundred thousand dollars. Were these transactions made by you?”

For a second, Price said nothing. Then a quiet chuckle escaped him, amused. He could picture you perfectly—brows furrowed, muttering under your breath out of frustration. “No,” he said finally, his tone warm with fondness. “That’s not fraud. That’s just my boyfriend throwing a tantrum.” There was an awkward pause before the rep cleared their throat and asked if they should proceed. Price grinned to himself. “Aye, run the bills through. I’ll handle him when I get home.”

He hung up, shaking his head with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Five hundred grand,” he muttered under his breath. “You really went for it, didn’t you?”

By the time he pulled into the driveway, the sun had begun to dip, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. Your car was already there, parked slightly crooked, and through the window, he could see you curled up on the couch surrounded by boxes. Some were opened, others still sealed, and the whole scene screamed “I regret nothing.”

When he stepped inside, you didn’t even look up right away. You heard his boots on the floor, but kept your gaze fixed on your phone out of stubborn pride. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, a teasing smile in his voice as he said, “So… care to tell me why my bank thinks I opened a department store?”

You finally looked up at him, and your heart skipped. “Don’t leave me waiting for two hours,” you muttered.

Price chuckled quietly and crossed the room until he was standing right in front of you. His hand came up, fingers brushing your chin, coaxing your face toward his. “I deserved that, did I?” he asked softly. You mumbled, “You promised.” His expression softened at that, guilt flickering behind his eyes. “Aye,” he said, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, “I did. Got caught up at base. Should’ve called.”

Your shoulders relaxed a little, the irritation melting as he lingered. When he pulled back, his gaze swept over the boxes. “Five hundred grand, though? You’ve got expensive taste, love.”

You couldn’t help a faint smirk. “You said I’m worth it.”

That got a real laugh out of him. He pulled you against his chest. “Aye, that I did,” he murmured. “Guess I should’ve been more specific about the budget.”

“Tell you what,” he said after a moment, voice low and teasing, “next time I’m late, I’ll call first. But if you pull this again, I’m hiding me cards.”