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Another day of being late as the CEO of a sprawling empire. Childe sighed, his fingers threading through Zhongli's silken hair in a futile attempt to rouse him. No luck. Frustration bubbled up, hot and insistent, so he pinched those sharp cheekbones—hard enough to sting, soft enough to tease.
To his shock, Zhongli stirred. Finally. But the man just rolled over, burying his face in the pillow with a contented hum. Five years of marriage, and Childe still couldn't wrap his head around this infuriating obliviousness. Important days demanded awareness, damn it.
Before he could escalate, his phone buzzed like an angry hornet. The screen lit up with Signora. His mood plummeted. Note to self: hard boundaries between work and... this mess.
"Good morning, Ms. Signora," he greeted, voice clipped and solemn.
"Good morning, Sir Childe. Just a reminder: today's meeting starts and ends exactly on schedule, per your letter. The Tsaritsa doesn't suffer fools who waste her time."
He bit his lip bloody to stifle the retort. This bitch—
"Of course. We'll be there early." Polite. Professional. Barely.
"Very well..." A pause, then the audacity: "...Is Mr. Zhongli in the company now?"
Childe's blood boiled. She had no clue about them— their private world, fiercely guarded—but professionalism? Out the window. "We'll be in touch. Goodbye."
He stalked back to the bed, glaring at his peacefully slumbering husband. No more Mr. Nice Guy. With a swift kick, Zhongli tumbled off the mattress in a tangle of sheets.
"...Baobei?"
They arrived together, as always, drawing the usual stares from employees who pretended not to notice. Zhongli fell into step beside him, voice a low whisper against his ear. "Baobei, is something wrong? Because I woke up late?"
Yes. And yes. And more. But Childe just squeezed his hand, silent.
His gaze locked on Signora, eyes devouring Zhongli like a feast while the man discussed deals with the Tsaritsa. Bold. Unabashed. Childe's chest tightened; he dropped his stare to the floor, fists clenched. No scenes. Not here.
When he looked up, the Tsaritsa's eyes met his—amused, knowing. She smiled. Childe blinked. What the hell?
Zhongli's glances flicked his way too, loaded with unspoken words. What now?
The meeting wrapped in triumph, a massive leap for both companies. Childe's pride swelled as Zhongli and the Tsaritsa shook hands, sealing the deal. Bodyguards ushered them into the glass-walled lounge; he followed, only to collide with Signora. She flashed a saccharine smile and breezed past.
Where's the manners? Another sigh. Inside, Zhongli's gaze snagged his again— cryptic, intense. Childe arched a brow in question. Zhongli shook his head faintly, exhaling.
"Oh my," the Tsaritsa purred, eyes raking over Childe. He froze. "What a handsome young man."
"Good morning, Ms. Tsaritsa." He bowed, respectful despite the chill racing his spine.
She chuckled, waving it off. "No need for extravagance." Then, to Zhongli: "You've got an eye for talent, Morax. A secretary like this... If I may—"
Zhongli slammed his bag onto the table, the crack echoing like thunder. "It's getting late, Tsaritsa. Your secretary must be fretting over your schedule. If you'll excuse us." His smile was all teeth, no warmth. He snatched Childe's hand— firm, possessive— and yanked him toward the door.
Childe barely snagged Zhongli's things in time, heart hammering as they stormed out.
Three feet from the guards, Childe whispered, "What happened?"
Zhongli's grip tightened like iron. "We'll ride together." No room for argument. The bodyguards nodded mutely.
In the car, Childe slid into the passenger seat, Zhongli circling to the driver's side. "Love, tell me." He rubbed soothing circles over Zhongli's knuckles.
Zhongli sighed, those golden eyes turning on him—wide, lost, achingly vulnerable. Like a kicked puppy. Adorable. "Why are you so pretty, baobei?"
Childe blinked. "...Huh?"
He slumped back, staring out the window. "I get my husband is stunning, but her flirting? Demanding your personal data right in front of me? I couldn't hold back."
Those puppy eyes begged now. "Are you mad? That I snapped at the Tsaritsa?"
Dumbfounded, Childe burst out laughing—deep, breathless peals that shook the car. Zhongli gaped, but Childe couldn't stop, wiping tears as he gasped for air.
"Mad? No. Nervous, maybe. But this?" He grinned. "Perfect."
Zhongli's smile bloomed, though jealousy simmered beneath. "You're jealous because she's interested in me..."
Childe cupped his face. "Without knowing I'm jealous too. Signora's eyes on you—every damn meeting. Staring like she owns you."
Zhongli blinked, stunned. "I didn't notice."
"Of course not. Blockhead." Childe kissed his cheek, soft and lingering. "But you're mine. What more could I want?" Another kiss.
Zhongli's gaze melted, molten gold. His hands framed Childe's face, peppering kisses everywhere—forehead, nose, jaw—each one a whispered I love you, breath hot against skin.
He stilled, eyes locking with infinite tenderness. "How about we go public—"
"Yes." Childe's voice was steel, no hesitation. Five years of shadows, his rules. But now? Time to claim it all.
Zhongli's lips crashed into his— fierce, loving, promising forever. "I love you so much, baobei."
"I love you too, love."