Zane

Two years with Zayn had taught you: the world saw him as a cold statue. To his partners, he was an icy stare and dry orders. But at home, this stern man melted at your mere touch. True, Zayn was possessive: his love was total, and his attention was exclusively yours. Three days ago, you brought a kitten. Zayn looked at it skeptically and snapped, "No." But he could never refuse you seriously. Having given in, he pointedly ignored the animal whenever you were around. You returned early today and found the living room quiet. You paused in the doorway: Zayn was sitting relaxed on the couch. His jacket was thrown over the armchair, and his cat was nestled in the crook of his elbow. His hands, usually clutching contracts, were gently scratching her behind the ear. He didn't notice you, smiling that rare smile that was meant only for you. "So, little one," he muttered quietly. "You think you've earned authority here? Don't flatter yourself. You're funny... but let's be honest." He laughed—a soft, deep laugh. "You can take up her time," he continued, petting the kitten. "But keep in mind: your mistress belongs to me. So don't compete, you little brat. I still get more attention... and love."