It was just after breakfast—what little Sai could eat while pretending his hips weren’t plotting revenge against him—that Dylan wandered into his private study, hair still damp and chest bare beneath a silk robe.
He had his tablet in one hand, lazily scrolling through secure apps. Mostly messages from underbosses, offshore wire transfers, encrypted updates about territory movements and confidential trades—boring empire things.
And then he opened his personal account. The private one. The one with more zeroes than most galaxies.
He checked the activity.
Still untouched.
His eyes narrowed.
The only transaction in the last 48 hours was his purchase: five boxes of condoms and one protein bar from a late-night corner pharmacy.
He blinked.
“…Still nothing,” he muttered, swiping through the untouched ledger.
He stared at Sai’s name, listed on the account with full access. Sai had signed the paperwork himself after they got married—had his own titanium card. It gleamed. Dylan had it engraved.
Sai had everything.
Everything, and yet…
“Not a single peso, dollar, yen, or coin spent,” Dylan said flatly to the air. “In four years.”
He shut the tablet, exhaled slowly, and walked out.
—
Sai was lounging on the daybed by the balcony, wrapped in a blanket, sipping hot tea and glaring at the birds like they personally offended him.
Dylan appeared behind him, shadow long in the sun.
“You still haven’t used any of my money.”
Sai didn’t even look up. “I told you. I don’t need it.”
“That’s not the point,” Dylan said, crossing his arms. “You’re my husband. You’re entitled to half my empire, and you haven’t bought even a pencil.”
“I don’t need a pencil.”
“You bought birth control pills. And even then, you used your card.”
Sai took a long sip of tea. “I like financial independence.”
“I like when you bankrupt me for fun.”
Sai side-eyed him.
Dylan moved to sit beside him, careful not to jostle him too much. “Sai. You could order a jet made of moonstone and I’d approve it in three seconds. Buy a small island and call it ‘Don’t-Touch-Me-I’m-Sore-istan.’ Anything.”
Sai gave him a tired, smug little smile. “I’m not after your wealth, Dylan.”
“I know you’re not.” Dylan ran a hand through his hair, frustrated but fond. “But I’m trying to spoil you. You married a mafia emperor trillionaire and you act like we’re splitting rent in a studio apartment.”
Sai shrugged. “You spoil me with other things.”
“Like what?”
“Condoms. Questionable stamina. Pancakes.”
Dylan choked on a laugh. “Sai.”
“I have everything I need.”
“That’s sweet, but not helpful when my accountant keeps calling me confused, asking why my husband hasn’t charged a single thing to the royal account.”
Sai arched a brow. “Royal account?”
Dylan gestured grandly. “You. Are. Royalty. Now go buy something unnecessary. Something offensive to the economy. A solid gold violin. A bathtub that sings opera. I don’t care.”
Sai set down his tea and leaned closer, voice soft. “I’d rather just have you.”
Dylan paused.
That stopped him.
His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, but nothing came out. For once, the Mafia Emperor was speechless.
Sai kissed the corner of his lips.
“…But if it’ll make you happy,” he added, “I’ll use your card today.”
Dylan perked up instantly. “Really?”
“Mmhm.”
“What will you buy?”
Sai stood up slowly—still a little sore—and stretched.
“I was thinking…” He gave Dylan a sly look. “A new bed.”
Dylan blinked. “Why?”
“The current one makes noises,” Sai said, walking away. “Because someone thinks ten rounds is normal.”
Dylan laughed, watching him go.
Then he reached for his phone and messaged his assistant:
“Prepare authorization for bed upgrades. And tell the Vatican we might need blessed memory foam.”
Sai didn’t spend his money because he needed to.
He spent it because he loved him.
And now that he’d started, Dylan had no idea what chaos was about to hit his bank account.
The manor was unusually quiet that morning, save for the soft rustle of curtains and the distant hum of a fountain outside.
Sai, wrapped in a thick cream robe and freshly showered, stepped onto the grand staircase with phone in hand, scrolling lazily through an online catalog of beds. His brows were furrowed as he looked through options that promised orthopedic support, adjustable foundations, and "motion isolation"—which, frankly, sounded necessary given what he and Dylan had done to the last one.
“Too soft,” he murmured to himself, scrolling past a tufted monstrosity. “Too dramatic. Too… gold?”
He tapped the screen—then fumbled.
The phone, slick from his freshly moisturized hands, slipped from his grasp.
“Ah—wait!”
Clatter—bounce—tap tap tap tap—THUMP.
Sai watched in horror as the device tumbled end over end, bouncing off the polished mahogany steps like it was mocking gravity, before finally crashing into the marble floor below with a final sad little clink of defeat.
He stood frozen halfway down the staircase, staring blankly.
“…That phone had my wish list on it.”
From down the hall, there was a pause.
Then—
“Was that your phone?” Dylan’s voice called out, followed by the faint sound of approaching footsteps.
Sai slowly made his way down the rest of the stairs, one hand trailing the railing, the other holding his robe shut like dignity could be preserved through cotton.
He reached the bottom and crouched with a groan, picking up the phone. The screen was still on. Miraculously, uncracked—but the case had popped off and the charger port looked like it had been through a minor war.
“Still works,” Sai muttered, tapping the screen.
Dylan appeared around the corner, shirt half-buttoned, glasses on, holding a cup of black coffee and looking like sin wrapped in morning silk. He paused at the sight of Sai crouched over the phone like a wounded animal.
“…Did the bed catalog attack you?” Dylan asked, amused.
“It tried,” Sai muttered. “I lost grip. It did a triple flip and dive-bombed the marble.”
Dylan sipped his coffee slowly. “I could buy you a new phone.”
Sai gave him a flat look. “Of course you could.”
“Solid gold frame. Diamond buttons. Satellite access. Facial recognition keyed to my heartbeat.”
“Okay, why would you need—”
“Because I love you, and I want your next phone to survive if it falls down Mount Everest.”
Sai sighed and stood up, brushing off his robe. “It still works. Barely. I’ll just replace the case.”
Dylan was already pulling out his own phone. “Too late. I’m ordering one now.”
“Don’t you dare—!”
“I dare.”
Sai groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You realize this is not how spoiling works, right?”
“Yes, it is.” Dylan flashed him a grin. “You said you’d spend my money today. The universe heard you hesitate, and your phone flung itself down the stairs in protest.”
“I was trying to buy a bed.”
“And instead, you’re getting a phone made with meteorite fragments.”
Sai looked heavenward like he was asking for patience.
Dylan stepped forward, gently taking the wounded phone from his hand and inspecting it. “We’ll keep this one for nostalgic purposes. Our first shared casualty after the tenth round.”
Sai blinked. “It didn’t even die.”
“It wants to. Look at it. It’s clinging to life. Like you were last night.”
Sai immediately smacked his arm with the sleeve of his robe. “Dylan!”
Dylan only laughed, slipping the injured phone into his pocket. “Come. Let’s go pick out a bed. One that doesn’t scream every time I so much as lean forward.”
“I told you it wasn’t built for war.”
“We are built for war.”
“No. You are built for reckless chaos. I am built for tea, reading, and maybe—maybe—mild danger.”
Dylan leaned in, brushing a kiss against Sai’s cheek. “Fine. But you’re still getting a new phone.”
Sai sighed.
He should’ve just let the damn thing crack. Maybe then Dylan would’ve stopped at just a normal upgrade.
But now?
There’d be a diamond-encrusted, bulletproof, AI-integrated, possibly flame-thrower-equipped monstrosity arriving in a velvet case before sundown.
All because Sai dropped his phone on the stairs.
And married a man who took spoiling as a full-time profession.
The next morning, Dylan stormed into the bedroom, his long black coat billowing behind him like a villain from a drama, a tablet in one hand and an expression of absolute betrayal etched onto his face.
Sai was sitting cross-legged on the bed in a hoodie and loose pajama pants, quietly unboxing something on the comforter. A white box. Clean, simple. Humble.
Dylan froze in the doorway.
“…Is that a regular phone?” he asked slowly, like the words tasted wrong on his tongue.
Sai didn’t even glance up. “Mm-hmm.”
Dylan took one step forward. “As in… not diamond-encrusted? Not reinforced with meteorite metal? No titanium frame? No biometric self-destruct if stolen?”
Sai peeled the screen protector off with a satisfying hiss. “Just a phone.”
Dylan blinked. “Sai. Love of my life. Light of my kingdom. I gave you unlimited access to an account that could buy a private satellite. And you bought a device I’ve seen teenagers drop into soup.”
Sai calmly inserted the SIM card. “Exactly. It’s perfect. It has everything I need: calls, messages, camera, internet, and a calculator. Oh, and I can shop for beds. No need for meteorite parts.”
Dylan stared at him in horror.
Sai looked up at last, meeting his husband’s stare with a perfectly calm expression.
“It was on sale,” he added with a casual shrug.
“On sale?!” Dylan echoed, like the words physically wounded him.
Sai tilted his head. “Would you rather I spent fifty million on a phone that projects holograms of our anniversary photos and makes coffee?”
Dylan opened his mouth to say yes.
Then realized he’d already seen a prototype for something like that in Dubai.
Sai continued, tone matter-of-fact, “I’m not wasting your money, Dylan. That account is for things that matter.”
Dylan slowly sat on the edge of the bed, defeated. “I want to waste my money on you.”
Sai nudged him with his foot. “You already do. You bought five boxes of weaponized condoms and fed me twenty chocolate chip pancakes. Let me have my one act of responsibility.”
Dylan sighed dramatically, letting himself fall backward onto the bed. “You’re making the rest of the mafia think I’m losing my edge.”
“You are. To me.”
Dylan cracked a small smile. “True.”
Sai leaned down, kissed his cheek softly, and whispered, “But if it helps… the bed I just ordered wasn’t on sale.”
Dylan perked up immediately. “How much?”
“Let’s just say the website asked if I wanted it installed by crane or helicopter.”
He sat up. “Now that’s my husband.”
Sai smirked, tapping his new phone. “Don’t worry. I used your card this time.”
Dylan’s eyes gleamed. “Now we’re talking.”
They exchanged a look—pure mischief, shared chaos, a perfect storm of overindulgence and sarcasm.
Sai didn’t need the flash.
He had Dylan for that.
But every now and then, a ridiculously luxurious bed was a reminder that being married to a trillionaire mafia emperor had its perks.
The newly ordered luxury bed hadn’t even arrived yet—Sai was still using a mountain of extra pillows for “post-spike therapy support”—when a black car pulled up to the front gate of the Reifler estate.
Sai had just finished arranging fresh flowers in the foyer when the doorbell rang.
He answered with his usual warm smile, unaware that fate had just invited trouble into his home.
“Cousin!” the visitor beamed.
Tall. Glossy. Designer sunglasses perched on a flawless face. Dressed to kill—and not subtly. Everything about them screamed calculated charm and a dash of poison.
It was Levana.
Sai’s cousin on his mother’s side. Charming, sophisticated, and notoriously flirtatious. They had been close in childhood—back when Sai believed everyone had good intentions and thought “sarcasm” was a kind of herbal tea.
“Levana!” Sai smiled brightly and stepped aside. “I didn’t know you were coming today!”
“I thought I’d surprise you,” Levana said sweetly, slipping past the threshold and offering him a hug. “I was in the area and thought… why not drop by my favorite cousin’s estate and stay a few nights?”
Sai, ever soft-hearted, nodded eagerly. “Of course. You’re always welcome here.”
Always.
That was mistake number one.
—
It started with the little things.
The way Levana’s eyes trailed after Dylan when he walked past the study, lingering far too long on the cut of his coat, the fit of his trousers, the way he sipped his coffee.
Sai never noticed. He was too busy adjusting the temperature in the guest room or trying to cook Dylan’s favorite meals as a surprise.
Levana noticed everything.
Like how Dylan, despite his dangerous aura and unshakable calm, had a soft spot for gentle touches. How he paused every time Sai smiled at him. How he always hovered a little too close, protective and quiet like a watchful wolf.
So Levana began testing waters.
Touching Dylan’s arm when passing by.
Sitting a little too close during afternoon tea.
Complimenting his cologne, his cufflinks, his posture.
“I can see why you chose Dylan,” Levana purred one afternoon, when Sai had gone to bring out the extra honey. “He's quite… powerful.”
Dylan, who had remained civil out of respect for Sai’s kindness, merely offered a tight smile. “He chose me.”
Levana smiled too sweetly. “Then perhaps fate has good taste.”
—
It wasn’t until the third day that Dylan snapped.
It happened in the hallway, near the staircase.
Sai had gone to grab his new phone charger from the guest lounge.
Levana stepped into Dylan’s path, dressed in silk, all charm and danger. “You don’t belong to just him,” they murmured. “Not a man like you. You need someone who knows what power tastes like. What darkness feels like.”
Dylan’s expression changed instantly.
He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t touch Levana. But when he spoke, his words were ice-coated steel.
“I’ve killed people for breathing wrong around my husband.”
Levana blinked.
Dylan took a step closer. His voice dropped low, almost a growl. “You think I’m tame because I make him pancakes. You think I’m soft because I carry him when he can’t walk. That’s not softness. That’s devotion. And you—” his eyes glinted, sharp as daggers, “—are overestimating how merciful I’m willing to be in his house.”
Levana stepped back, lips parting in a mix of fear and indignation.
Dylan leaned in, cold and deadly. “Touch me again, and I’ll make sure you leave this house unable to speak for a month. That’s the only warning you get.”
Then—
“Dylan?” Sai called sweetly from the other room. “I found the charger!”
Dylan’s demeanor shifted in an instant. His hand reached out and brushed Levana aside like they were no more than a leaf in his path.
He smiled gently and turned toward Sai’s voice. “Coming, darling.”
He disappeared down the hall.
Levana stood frozen. Trembling slightly.
They had come to seduce an emperor.
And found instead a devoted beast wrapped in velvet—and teeth.
—
Later that evening, when Sai served dessert in the garden, he handed Dylan his plate with a bright smile and a soft, “Thank you for being patient with my cousin.”
Dylan smiled, gently lacing their fingers together under the table.
Sai didn’t notice the slight tremor in Levana’s hands as they spooned custard into their mouth.
He didn’t notice the way Levana avoided looking Dylan in the eyes anymore.
He didn’t even notice that Dylan never let Sai out of his sight for the rest of the evening.
Because Sai was innocent.
And kind.
And impossibly loved.
And no one—no one—would get close enough to touch that light.
Not while Dylan Castanier Reifler still drew breath.
The sun had barely risen over the eastern garden when the morning breeze filtered through the open windows of the grand kitchen. The world outside was quiet—calm and slow, the way Sai liked it after days of chaos.
He shuffled in wearing one of Dylan’s oversized shirts, sleeves drooping past his hands, and his hair a soft, tousled mess from sleep. The house was still. Dylan had gone for a quick call in the security wing. Levana, thankfully, was still asleep.
And Sai?
He wanted milk.
He opened the fridge, took a bottle, poured it into his favorite ceramic mug—the one with faint cracks and little stars painted along the side—and heated it briefly in the microwave.
But perhaps too briefly.
Or too long.
He didn't really check.
He picked up the warm mug with both hands and walked to the balcony like a sleepy prince, pale light brushing his face as he raised the mug and took a generous sip.
The result was immediate.
His lips parted—
Burn.
A flush of heat burst across his tongue like betrayal. Not scalding, but enough to bite.
Sai calmly stopped mid-step.
Blink.
His mouth opened again as he pulled the mug away and let out the most neutral, expressionless sound in history:
“…Hhuh.”
Then he stuck out his tongue.
No scream. No panic. Just a flat stare ahead, his tongue gently poking out like a cat who’d licked something unpleasant but was committed to emotional stability.
He stood there, tongue out, mug in hand, robe swaying with the breeze. A portrait of pure serenity, despite the injury.
It was at that moment that Dylan returned—rounding the corner, coat over one arm, earpiece tucked away, already mid-sentence. “Darling, I’ve handled the surveillance angle, but we may have to—” He froze.
He stared.
Sai stood there, tongue out, blinking slowly.
“…Did someone offend you?” Dylan asked.
Sai turned to him, utterly calm. “The milk lied.”
Dylan blinked again. “The milk… lied.”
“It said warmth,” Sai murmured, eyes still half-lidded. “It meant vengeance.”
Dylan walked over immediately, setting down his coat and cupping Sai’s face with one hand, inspecting him like he was a priceless antique. “Did you burn your tongue?”
Sai nodded solemnly, tongue still slightly out. “Ssslightly.”
Dylan was already reaching for his phone. “Do we sue the microwave or the cow first?”
Sai gave him a soft swat with his oversized sleeve. “Stop it. It’s nothing.”
“You were wounded by dairy. In my home. I’ve failed you.”
Sai rolled his eyes and gently sipped again, this time more cautiously. “I’ll survive.”
Dylan sighed dramatically, then reached behind him and pulled out a honey candy from his pocket like he was expecting this somehow. “Here. Let it melt on your tongue.”
Sai raised a brow. “You carry this?”
“For emergencies. Such as accidental culinary betrayal.”
Sai smiled, popped the candy in his mouth, and hummed softly. The sweetness helped.
Dylan kissed his forehead, murmuring, “I’ll warn the kitchen staff.”
“I made it myself.”
“…Then I’ll warn you.”
Sai chuckled.
And just then, from the hallway, Levana peeked around the corner, sleepy and cautious—eyes immediately catching the image of Dylan holding Sai close, brushing his hair back, speaking softly as Sai smiled through a burned tongue and a honey drop.
The sight stung worse than rejection ever could.
Because no matter how alluring or bold Levana tried to be, they would never have this.
Not the quiet affection.
Not the effortless intimacy.
Not the kind of love that could turn a scalded tongue into a sacred moment.
Sai, completely unaware of being watched, blinked up at Dylan and asked, “Do we still have marshmallows?”
“For your milk?”
“For my soul.”
Dylan’s smile was pure devotion. “I’ll order twenty bags.”
And just like that, the milk was forgiven.
Because in the Reifler estate, even accidents turned into tenderness—and love, when it was real, didn’t need grand gestures.
Just honey candy, burned tongues, and a husband who remembered the little things.
***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***
Download
Like this story? Download the app to keep your reading history.
Comments