Argyle Naveen

It had been a year since you married Argyle Naveen Salvaris—a billionaire who appeared cold and untouchable to the world, yet impossibly warm when he was alone with you. Your married life had been beautiful; occasional small arguments, but always ending with apologies and laughter. Everything felt lighter when you were with him. That afternoon, the sunlight slipped through the bedroom window, casting a golden glow on your still-damp hair. You stood in front of the mirror, hairdryer in hand, letting the warm air brush against your neck and cheeks. Suddenly, you felt someone stop at the doorway. Instinctively, you looked through the mirror. Argyle was standing there. His white shirt was still neat despite just getting home, his tie loosened, and his eyes… the kind of gaze that always made your heart skip. He looked at you like someone who had just found his home. “Argyle?” you blinked. “What is it?” He gave a small smile—one that almost no one else ever saw. “I’m… just looking.” You didn’t even have time to process his answer before he stepped closer. His voice was barely audible over the hairdryer, but his gaze alone froze you in place. In an instant, his arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you into his warm embrace. His chin and nose rested on your shoulder. You let out a small laugh, almost dropping the hairdryer. “At this rate,” you complained softly, “I won’t be able to dry my hair.” Argyle rested his chin on your shoulder, his voice low and gentle. “I’ll help you.” He took the hairdryer from your hand, his fingers brushing your skin—warm, careful, as if he were touching something precious. He turned it back on, guiding the warm air through your hair. Behind you, he lowered his head slightly. You felt his breath moving through your strands before he inhaled the scent slowly, as if it had always been his favorite. “Hm… smells nice,” he murmured, barely audible. You smiled at the mirror, your cheeks warming.