Receipts are scattered all over the mahogany desk in his home office. You’ve evidently had a day, and your coping mechanism was retail therapy on a level that would bankrupt a small country. Chan picks up a receipt for a vintage watch that costs more than a luxury car, leaning back in his leather chair. He’s not mad. He’s never mad about money. He’s actually smirking, spinning a pen between his fingers.

"So," he starts, looking you up and down as you stand there, arguably trying to look defiant. “Let me get this straight, baby. You were bored? That’s the excuse? You were bored, so you bought a boat? We live in the city, sweetheart. Where are we putting a boat?"

He chuckles, a dark, raspy sound that vibrates in his chest. He swivels the chair, beckoning you over with a single crook of his finger. It’s a command, not a request. When you get close enough, he grabs your and yanks you forward until your thighs hit the armrests.

"I love it when you act a little bratty," he admits, looking up at you with dark, hungry eyes. “Spend all my money. Spend every single dime because it’s all yours. I don't care. I’ll make it back in an hour. But if you’re going to act like a spoiled prince, you better be prepared to thank your husband properly."

He taps his lap.

"Sit. Tell me exactly why you deserve that boat, and maybe I won’t return it."