The moment Lucian disappeared to change, I headed to my room and finally looked down at the clothes he gave me.

A hoodie and a sweatpants.

Simple.

Soft.

Clean.

And they smelled like him.

Warm.

Calm.

A little sharp, like pine and cold air.

Expensive, but not the loud kind—quiet money.

I didn't even mean to inhale, but the scent hit me anyway and something inside me… loosened.

My shoulders dropped.

My heartbeat slowed.

Ugh.

Absolutely not.

I refused to admit any of this out loud.

I put the hoodie on first.

It swallowed me instantly—soft fabric brushing my skin, the neckline tugging wide on my collarbone. Then the sweatpants slipped down my hips because they were huge, but the drawstring saved my life.

I almost melted, his scent is so relaxing.

I hated that.

By the time Lucian came back—black shirt, black pants, jacket sliding perfectly over him—I pretended I wasn't halfway comfortable in his clothes.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Obviously," I muttered.

We walked to the car—one of those sleek black ones you only see in movies or political convoys. A driver opened the door immediately, bowing so low he nearly kissed the ground.

I frowned, trying to mask the laugh threatening to spill.

Lucian didn't react.

Of course he didn't.

The drive wasn't long, but the silence felt… full. Not tense. Just full.

My fingers kept touching the hem of the hoodie without thinking and I inhaled his scent deeper.

I hated that even more. The omega in me just always wished to embarrass me.

When the car finally stopped, I looked out the window and froze.

This wasn't a mall.

This was the mall.

The elite one.

The "you need a membership before you even see the entrance" kind.

The one I've only seen on TV where rich families do silent competitions with their wallets.

"What are we doing here?" I asked.

Lucian glanced at me. "Buying clothes."

"This is too expensive." Yes they are, even if I have my money, I'm not planning on spending them all on shopping 

"You're my spouse," he replied. "You won't be shopping in places that treat you like you're lucky to be there."

My mouth opened, closed, opened again.

"I'm paying for my own clothes," I said firmly.

Lucian didn't even blink.

"No. You're not."

"Lucian—"

"You can argue inside," he said calmly. "The staff are waiting."

…Staff?

He stepped out.

The doors opened before he reached them.

And then—

like in a drama— The entire row of attendants and managers bowed.

"Welcome back, Mr. Christwealth," a tall manager said, voice trembling slightly. "It's an honor to have you visit again."

Lucian gave a short nod. "I need a full wardrobe. For him."

He glanced at me.

Every head snapped in my direction.

My face heated instantly.

The manager's eyes widened like he'd just seen a myth step out of a story. "Of—of course, sir. We'll bring the premium collections. And the private floor is cleared for you."

Private floor.

Lucian walked.

I followed, trying not to trip over the fact that a private floor was being opened just because he showed up.

Inside, the air smelled of polished marble, quiet music, and very expensive fabrics.

We reached the private section and attendants quietly placed clothes for me to try—shirts, trousers, soft sweaters, high-quality jackets, shoes so expensive I could probably sell them and buy a small island.

I felt overwhelmed.

And small.

And weirdly… seen, but I keep in mind that I'm worth it, and I could get all this myself if I want to.

One attendant handed me a cream-colored sweater. "Try this, sir. It will compliment your complexion beautifully."

Sir.

Me.

I went into the changing room, put it on, and it was warm. Rich. Soft.

Feeling so buttery against my skin. This is exactly what grandpa would've gotten me if I told him to buy me clothes.

When I stepped out, Lucian's eyes lifted from his phone.

His gaze dragged over me once… slow… quiet.

"Turn around," he said, which made me stiffened a little but I did.

He nodded once, that same unreadable expression he always had—but something in his eyes softened around the edges.

"That one," he said. "We'll take it."

"We are not taking anything until I pay," I snapped.

A small sound escaped him—not quite a laugh but close enough to annoy me.

"Mika," he said, "you can pay for anything you want… except this."

"Why?! It's my clothes—"

"No," he said simply, calmly. "It's my responsibility. And I intend to handle it."

Responsibility.

The word hit me harder than I expected.

I opened my mouth to argue again, but the

his scent drifted from the hoodie again, calming me.

My chest loosened.

My anger softened into something quieter—annoyance mixed with… something else.

I hated all of it.

"I can pay," I tried one last time, weakly.

"And you don't have to," he replied, voice lower now. "Let me do this."

Something in his tone…

made it harder to keep fighting.

I looked away. "Fine. Whatever."

He didn't smile.

But his eyes did.

Just a little.

We continued picking clothes—him quietly observing, me pretending not to like any of them too much, staff treating me like I was royalty because Lucian simply existed beside me.

And the whole time…

his scent clung to me through the hoodie.

Warm. Steady. Safe.

It was the only thing keeping me from falling apart in that ridiculous, luxurious place.

And I hated that most of all.