Chapter 383: My Lady

Afternoon light sat clean against the glass when he saw the boutique.

Maison Vale.

Soft gold behind the windows. A name written so clean it did not need to shout. He slowed, pulled the BMW to the curb, and cut the engine.

She looked at him.

The redness from the police stop had finally left her face. The shy edge she carried after the officer walked away was gone. She sat straighter now, composed again, watching him like she was trying to read the reason before he gave it.

"Why are we stopping here?"

"Shopping," he said. "Short stop."

She hesitated, then opened her door and followed. Not close enough to look attached, not far enough to look separate. Just a quiet step behind him as they crossed the pavement and entered the store.

The air inside was cooler. Clean. Expensive in a way that did not need loud music. A saleswoman near the front looked up the moment they walked in. Her eyes moved over him first, then her, then the quiet way both of them carried themselves. Years on the floor had taught her the difference between people who browsed and people who bought. She came forward with a practiced smile already in place.

"Good afternoon. How can I help you?"

He did not waste time.

"Anything for my lady."

Her steps slowed.

The words landed softer than she expected and stayed longer than they should have. Heat rose under her skin at once, different from the earlier embarrassment. Happier. Harder to hide. For a second she almost told him she did not need anything. She had money. She had clothes. She had never depended on a man buying for her.

But he had called her his lady.

That made the refusal stick in her throat.

She glanced at him sideways, trying to recover face.

"Your lady," she repeated, quiet enough that only he caught it. "You’re bold for someone who almost got us pulled into a full report an hour ago."

His mouth curved slightly.

"And yet you’re still following me into the store."

She looked away first, the blush deepening as she let the saleswoman guide her toward the displays. He stayed a few steps behind, hands in his pockets, watching without rushing her. She moved through the first row carefully, fingers brushing leather and fabric, then stopped at two bags only. Clean design. Nothing loud. She held both up, checked the weight, then turned back to him with the same warm color still in her face.

"This is enough."

He looked at the two bags, then at her.

"That’s all?"

"Yes," she said, softer now. "Don’t start sounding disappointed. I’m already letting you buy."

His eyes stayed on her a second longer.

"I’m not disappointed. I’m just making sure my lady is satisfied."

Her fingers tightened slightly on the bag strap.

"Stop saying that in public."

"Why?"

She did not answer. The faint smile she tried to kill only made the blush worse.

He accepted the two bags with a short nod.

"Good. These are yours."

Then he looked toward the deeper side of the store, where the locked cases and higher shelves sat under cleaner light.

"While we’re here, I also need a few things for the people waiting at home. I don’t want to walk in empty-handed."

The saleswoman brightened at once.

"Of course. I can bring out our best pieces—"

"Yes," he said. "Bring the best. Bags. Jewelry. Watches. Whatever sits at the top."

The woman had already started turning when her voice cut across the floor.

"Stop."

Both of them looked at her.

She walked closer, still holding the strap of one of her own bags, the earlier blush faint on her cheeks but her expression steady now.

"That is not how you shop. If she brings the best of everything, you end up with expensive things nobody asked for and nobody will enjoy properly."

He watched her.

She turned to the saleswoman before he could answer.

"Leave it. I’ll pick."

She moved into the aisle without waiting for permission. No rush. No show. Just the quiet certainty of someone who had grown up around money and knew the difference between a display piece and a gift a woman would actually keep close. She checked the bags first, feeling the leather, the weight, the shape, setting aside only the ones with clean lines and real use. Jewelry came next. Nothing too loud. Nothing that looked impressive for five minutes and useless after. Then the watches, chosen one by one with the same calm attention.

He followed a few steps behind and said nothing.

By the time they returned to the counter, the selections were already complete. Bags. Jewelry. Watches. Each one chosen with intention. The saleswoman packed them carefully while she stood to the side, only then glancing at him like she had just realized how fully she had taken over.

"They’ll like these."

"I know."

The total came up on the screen.

Three million two hundred thousand.

He paid without changing expression. The card went through. The bags were carried out into the afternoon light and loaded into the BMW until the trunk sat full with quiet packaging and carefully chosen gifts.

Then the system stirred.

[Ding!]

[Eligible spending detected.]

[Amount Spent: $3,200,000]

[Generating rebate multiplier...]

[Congratulations!]

[Rebate Multiplier: 100×]

[Rebate Awarded: $320,000,000]

He closed the trunk and let the number pass through his mind without holding it. There had been a time when figures like that still moved something in him. That time was gone. He got into the car, waited for her to settle in the passenger seat, and pulled back onto the road.

The drive home stayed quiet.

She looked once at the bags behind them, then out the window, then at her hands. He kept his eyes forward. For most of the day she had not thought seriously about the women waiting at his house. When he first mentioned them, the words had passed through her without weight. Her mind had been somewhere else entirely, still caught on the heat of the car, the size of him, the way he had filled her mouth and left her restless. That had been easier to think about than the rest.

Now the house was getting closer, and the reality finally settled in.

There were girls at home. Women who already had a place with him. And she was about to walk in behind him carrying shopping bags and the smell of a long afternoon spent alone with their man.

’Would they accept me?’

He reached the gate of his mansion, unlocked it, and drove through.

The house sat still ahead of them. He eased the BMW toward the garage and stopped, engine low, waiting without meaning to wait. Part of him expected the front door to open at the sound. Expected footsteps. Expected one of them to appear the way they usually did when his car came in.

Nobody came.

He shut the engine off.

For a second he only sat there, hands still on the wheel, listening to the quiet of his own house like it belonged to someone else. Then he opened the door and stepped out into the afternoon air, the silence around the entrance holding longer than he liked.