Episode - 1

When Sai Castanier Reifler married Dylan Castanier Reifler—infamous Mafia Emperor, feared from the gilded courts of Europe to the neon alleys of Hong Kong, and the richest man alive, his fortune untraceable, infinite—they all said it was for the money. For the power. For the prestige.

They said Sai was just another beautiful consort, collected like an antique and displayed in diamond halls. They said he’d fall into indulgence, into opulence, into silence.

But they were all wrong.

Sai didn’t need any of it.

The truth was simpler and deeper. Sai didn’t marry the Empire. He married the man who ruled it.

That day had been ordinary in the Castanier Reifler estate—if any day in the home of the world’s most dangerous man could be called that. The sun slipped through the expansive skylights, pouring golden warmth over the silk bedsheets as Sai sat in their bedroom, legs folded beneath him, holding a mug of lemon tea. He was dressed simply—an oversized gray shirt that may or may not have been Dylan’s, and soft pajama pants that pooled around his ankles. His long hair was loosely tied, dark strands trailing over his shoulder as he absently flipped through a book of architecture sketches.

The estate was too quiet for a Thursday.

That was the first sign.

The second was the sound of hard footsteps—measured but loud, echoing down the ivory corridor like thunder.

The third was the door swinging open with too much force.

Dylan stood in the doorway.

Unsmiling. Unfolding rage burning in his sharp, storm-colored eyes. He was still in his black suit, the jacket unbuttoned, the tie pulled loose. His cufflinks were missing, and that was never a good sign.

He strode into the room, his movements controlled but lethal—like a lion trying very hard not to break something.

Sai didn’t flinch. He never did, even in Dylan’s storms. He simply raised his head and blinked at him slowly.

“You're upset,” he observed.

Dylan didn’t answer. He reached into his coat, pulled out a folder, and tossed it onto the bed.

“Just check the extracts from my bank account.”

Sai lowered his mug. With a calm, practiced air, he opened the folder. It was a series of account statements, pristine, printed and freshly marked. Numbers. Immense numbers. Transactions listed—gifts purchased, companies acquired, a palace somewhere in Morocco purchased without negotiation—and then, silence.

No personal spending. No major withdrawal. No shopping spree, no untraceable gift-giving.

Especially not from Sai.

He looked up.

“And?” he asked.

“And?” Dylan echoed, his tone sharp with disbelief, “You didn’t spend a single damn penny of my money!”

Sai tilted his head slightly, voice as gentle as ever. “I didn’t need to.”

“I don’t care if you need it or not!” Dylan nearly growled, stepping forward. “You’re my husband, Sai. Not a guest. Not a tenant. Not my disciplined accountant. You’re mine. Go spend my money.”

Sai’s brows lifted, amused. “What for?”

“I don’t care. Buy a private island. Paint the Louvre. Replace the moon with a sapphire. You know how much I move in a day? Billions. And I checked every account, and the only person who never touches a coin is you.”

Sai shut the folder quietly. Then, in a voice so calm it made Dylan pause, he said, “If I start spending, they’ll say that’s the reason I married you.”

“They already say it,” Dylan hissed. “Let them choke on it.”

Sai laughed softly. “So dramatic.”

Dylan’s jaw clenched. “You once walked into a gunfight for me. You don’t flinch when I bring back blood. You sleep in the same bed where I plan wars. But you think taking my money is too much?”

Sai placed his hand gently over Dylan’s chest, right above his heart. It was still racing.

“I married you, Dylan,” he said, “not your bank balance. I want the version of you that forgets his tie but remembers my tea order. The one who still holds my hand when no one’s watching. The one who lets his empire bend around me but never dares to command me.”

Dylan’s breath hitched, anger softening at the edges.

“And I want you to know,” Sai added, “that I’ll never need your money to prove you’re mine. Or that I’m yours.”

There was silence. Then, Dylan’s arm wrapped around Sai’s waist and pulled him in with possessive ease. He kissed his temple, voice quieter this time, as if surrendering something.

“You still better spend my money.”

Sai chuckled into his chest. “Fine. I’ll buy the moon.”

“You’re laughing, but if I see one more untouched card in your name—”

“I’ll spend a dollar.”

“Sai.”

“Two?”

Dylan groaned, exasperated, but there was laughter under it. Real and deep. The kind he only shared with Sai.

That was the thing about them.

The world saw a king and his consort. But in truth, it was an empire built around love—not possession.

And sometimes, love looked like quiet mornings, sharp arguments, untouched bank accounts, and endless, infinite patience.

Even in a palace made of gold.

Sai did eventually spend money.

Not on a yacht.

Not on an island.

Not even on a diamond-encrusted fox sanctuary, which Dylan half-suggested during a bored midnight conversation.

No, Sai spent his first official purchase as the mafia emperor’s husband on something small, plain, and almost insultingly ordinary compared to the billions behind his name.

A box of birth control pills.

He didn’t even use Dylan’s platinum-deep account. Not directly. But it was technically from Dylan’s money—a shared medical subscription, discreet, quietly billed, no fanfare. Just a gentle transaction that slid like a whisper through the empire’s golden gates.

Sai thought nothing of it.

He took his time that evening. A hot bath, long enough to steam the mirrors and loosen every muscle from his spine. He let the lavender-scented foam rise around his shoulders, eyes closed as the water lulled him into silence. It was one of those rare moments when the world outside their fortress fell away—no assassins, no missions, no empire, just warmth.

He didn’t hear Dylan return.

Didn’t hear the soft thump of footsteps in their room. Didn’t hear the rustle of discarded weapons or the crackle of an opened paper bag.

But Dylan saw it.

The slim pack left on the nightstand. The pills, unmistakable in their shape, the calendar dial turned to Day 3. They weren’t hidden. They were just there—as if Sai thought nothing of it. As if this wasn’t a silent bullet between the ribs.

Dylan’s hand reached out and picked up the small blister pack. He held it up, staring at it for a long moment, as if it might vanish under the weight of his glare.

The bathroom door creaked open.

Sai stepped out, towel around his waist, damp hair clinging to his back. He paused at the sight of Dylan standing in the middle of their room, one hand in his pocket, the other holding something out between two fingers.

A familiar rectangle of foil and plastic.

“…What’s this?” Dylan asked.

His voice was deceptively calm.

Sai stopped walking. His eyes dropped to the pack, then returned to Dylan’s face, unreadable. He let out a slow breath and stepped closer, wet feet padding against the marble floor.

“Birth control,” Sai said simply.

Dylan’s jaw twitched. “Obviously. Why?”

Sai gave him a look, gentle but firm. “Why do you think?”

Dylan dropped the pack onto the bed with a sharp flick of his wrist. It bounced once and lay there, like a quiet accusation between them.

“You think I’d let anything happen to you?” Dylan’s voice was low now, quieter but far more dangerous. “You think I’d get you pregnant by accident?”

“I think we’ve both been reckless,” Sai replied calmly. “Twice in the last month, no protection. You came back from war, and I wasn’t exactly thinking logically.”

“And you think I wouldn’t want that?” Dylan stepped forward now, the shadows pulling behind him. “You think I wouldn’t want to build a life in you if it happened?”

Sai didn’t back down. He never did—not from bullets, not from politics, and not from Dylan’s wild, aching intensity.

“I know you would,” Sai said. “You’d throw the world at my feet and chain the sky to keep me safe. That’s not the point.”

Dylan stared, breath heavy.

“The point,” Sai continued softly, “is that I don’t want a child yet. Not now. Not while you’re still burning cities and dragging your enemies by the throat. Not while I’m still finding out how much I can be without getting lost in you.”

Silence.

Long and sharp.

“You think I’m not stable enough to raise a child,” Dylan said flatly.

Sai stepped even closer, until his fingers gently touched Dylan’s.

“No,” he whispered. “I think you’d be a good father. And I think I’d be a devoted one. But I want us to choose it. Not trip into it.”

Dylan looked away, eyes glassy with heat. “You should’ve told me.”

“I knew you’d react like this.”

“Because you’re mine,” Dylan muttered, almost to himself. “Every part of you. Even your future.”

“I know,” Sai said. “But I’m not ready to give that part of me away yet. Not even to you.”

Dylan closed his eyes. His breathing steadied. Then he opened them again and picked up the pills—not with rage now, but with quiet understanding, the kind that came only after the storm passed.

“Three days in already?” he murmured.

“Yes.”

“…Next time,” Dylan said, looking at him, “we decide together.”

Sai smiled faintly. “Next time.”

Dylan set the pills back on the nightstand.

Then he reached for Sai’s waist and pulled him close, towel and all, letting the scent of lavender wrap around them.

In that room of empires and shadows, of whispered fears and unspoken dreams, they stood together—not as king and consort, but as two men learning how to share power.

Even over something as small as a pill.

Dylan’s hand, still warm against Sai’s damp waist, stilled.

Sai looked up at him, eyes laced with playful scolding, a single brow raised as he added with absolutely no hesitation:

“You have infinite money, Dylan. You could buy the Vatican. Yet you can’t buy basic protection?” He pulled slightly away, just enough to cross his arms over his bare chest and sigh. “Buy condoms, will you?”

Dylan blinked.

Then blinked again.

He looked like a man who had just been personally insulted in twelve languages by the person he loved the most.

“I’m the most powerful man on the planet,” he said slowly, as though the words might help him understand what had just happened. “And you’re asking me to buy… condoms?”

“Yes,” Sai deadpanned. “Rubber ones. Latex. Ribbed. Pick a texture if you like, I won’t stop you. Just use them.”

Dylan opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked down at the slim pill pack again. Then back up at Sai, whose damp hair and towel should’ve made him look soft and innocent—but he just looked annoyed.

“I’m sorry, have we time-traveled?” Dylan asked. “Did I not just offer you the treasury of four continents and a planet made of silk? And you’re mad because I didn’t buy condoms?”

Sai stepped around him, grabbed a comb from the nightstand, and began untangling his hair with patient strokes. “It’s not about the money.”

“Everything is about money when you have this much of it,” Dylan muttered.

“No,” Sai replied. “Sometimes it’s about planning. And being responsible. And not knocking me up just because you forgot to restock the bottom drawer.”

Dylan’s face twisted. “Sai, no one forgets the bottom drawer. We use the bottom drawer.”

“Well, the bottom drawer has exactly one expired foil pack and two empty wrappers,” Sai snapped. “And I’m not relying on your... your memory and improvisation when my hormones are the ones that get hijacked.”

Dylan was now pacing.

The man who had ordered assassinations with a flick of his wrist, who had faced down coups and traitors and cartels, now ran a hand through his hair like he was unraveling.

“I’ll buy a factory.”

Sai glanced at him through the mirror. “What?”

“I’ll buy the entire condom industry. Just to make sure you never run out.”

Sai groaned. “You don’t need to buy the industry, Dylan. Just go to the pharmacy like a normal person and buy a few boxes.”

“A few? What if they break?”

“Then buy the good ones!”

“Define good.”

“The kind that don’t come from a shady vending machine outside an underground casino in Naples.”

“That was one time!”

Sai turned around, comb in hand. “It was one time and I had a rash for three days.”

“You said it was the bath salts!”

“I lied.”

There was a pause. A long, loaded silence. Then—

Dylan let out a laugh.

Not his usual cool, elegant chuckle. But a real, shocked, utterly disarmed laugh that cracked through the air like thunder breaking tension. His shoulders shook. He leaned against the dresser like he was trying not to fall over from how ridiculous—and how perfectly normal—this argument had become.

Sai smiled too. Just a little. Then walked over, still barefoot, and poked him in the chest with the comb.

“I love you,” he said simply. “But if you don’t buy condoms, I’ll personally invoice your trillion-dollar empire for my prenatal vitamins and cry at every board meeting.”

Dylan leaned down, cupping Sai’s cheek.

“I’d build you a palace shaped like a pacifier if you wanted one.”

Sai grinned. “Condoms, Dylan. Not a palace.”

“Fine,” Dylan sighed. “I’ll go buy the damn condoms.”

“And if I find glitter or glow-in-the-dark ones—”

“I make no promises.”

Sai rolled his eyes but kissed him anyway, soft and warm. “You’re impossible.”

“And you married me anyway,” Dylan whispered against his lips.

They both knew it wasn’t the money, or the pills, or the condoms.

It was this. The give and take. The ridiculous arguments tangled in deep love.

It was the choice to stay, even through the ordinary things.

Especially through the ordinary things.

Dylan froze.

The smirk that had been playing on his lips vanished as fast as a dropped crown in a war zone.

Sai, still damp from his bath, arms crossed and expression perfectly calm, delivered the sentence like a royal decree:

"If you don’t buy condoms, we won’t have sex."

It was not a tease.

Not a playful threat.

It was the terrifying tone of a man who had meant every word and would carry it to his grave.

Dylan, the most feared mafia emperor in existence, stared at his husband as if he had just been shot at point-blank range with a glitter gun. The sheer horror on his face made Sai internally snort—but he kept his composure.

“You wouldn’t,” Dylan said, eyes narrowing.

“I absolutely would,” Sai replied smoothly, towel tucked securely around his waist as he walked over to the closet, opening it casually.

“You love sex.”

“I love protection more.”

“Sai.”

“Dylan.”

The way Sai turned his head to look over his shoulder, hair still damp and clinging to his neck, a single eyebrow raised—that was a battlefield move. No less lethal than a dagger to the ribs. It meant he was done talking.

Dylan stood there like he’d just been served divorce papers for being horny and irresponsible.

“Are you seriously holding my libido hostage over a trip to the pharmacy?” he growled, low and dangerous.

“No,” Sai replied sweetly. “I’m holding my uterus hostage. Your libido is just collateral damage.”

“You don’t even have a uterus.”

“I could.” Sai slammed the closet shut and turned to face him. “You’ve been trying awfully hard to install one.”

Dylan groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “I can smuggle nuclear weapons across borders without a paper trail. I can erase identities, collapse governments. But the idea of walking into a pharmacy for condoms is what finally undoes me?”

Sai leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Yes. Because nuclear weapons don’t usually result in baby showers.”

Dylan pointed a finger, frustrated. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“I’m enforcing standards,” Sai shot back. “If you can spend trillions on diamond-encrusted wristwatches and bulletproof limousines with crocodile leather seats, then surely you can buy a damn box of latex.”

“I’ll send someone—”

“No,” Sai interrupted immediately. “You. Personally. Walk in. Pick a brand. Pay. Walk out. Humble yourself for once, O Emperor of the Underworld.”

Dylan looked like he was short-circuiting.

His left eye twitched.

“I’m going to do it,” he muttered at last. “Fine. I’ll buy them.”

“Good,” Sai said, satisfied. “Because until I see a receipt, consider our bedroom closed for business.”

“You’d really deprive me of your body?”

“I’d miss you,” Sai said sweetly, leaning forward and placing a kiss on Dylan’s cheek. “But I’d survive. Would you?”

Dylan looked like he had been shot and healed in the same second.

“Send me a list,” he muttered. “Brand, size, color. Whatever you want.”

“No glow-in-the-dark.”

“But they’re festive—”

“Dylan.”

“Fine, no fun.”

Sai watched him stomp out of the bedroom like a lion with a sore paw. And when the door finally shut, Sai let himself laugh, burying his face in his hands.

Fifteen minutes later, a message pinged on Sai’s phone.

From: Dylan

Subject: Operation Latex Storm

“Entering enemy territory. Pray for me.”

Sai stared at it for a moment, biting back laughter.

He replied with a single emoji: 🛑🍆

And somewhere, in the most luxurious black car on the planet, Dylan Castanier Reifler groaned loud enough to shake the rearview mirror.

For an emperor, the battlefield was endless.

But tonight, it was lit by fluorescent lights, filled with awkward stares, and lined with shelves of colored foil packets.

All for love.

And very necessary latex.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***