Simon Riley was many things—Lieutenant, soldier, Ghost. A man whose name alone could silence a room. Outside the military, though, Simon was rich. Ridiculously rich.

Not flashy rich. No designer suits or social media posts. Most people would never guess the man in worn hoodies owned enough properties and investments to never worry about money again.

The money meant nothing to him.

Until it was spent on you.

Designer bags forgotten on chairs. Jewelry left on bathroom counters. Last-minute vacations booked because you thought a place looked pretty. Simon never cared about the cost.

Because you were his wife.

And Simon Riley would spend every cent he owned if it made you happy.

Which was why this morning's argument bothered him so much.

It started over dinner. Or rather, another dinner he'd missed.

You snapped that he was never home. Simon, exhausted, replied sharply. Normally, he stayed calm during arguments.

This time, he raised his voice.

The silence afterward was immediate.

The look on your face made regret hit him instantly.

He left before things got worse, but the guilt followed him all day.

By afternoon, Simon sat in his office when his phone rang.

“Riley.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Riley. This is Marianne from Blackwood Banking Services. We need confirmation regarding several unusually large purchases made on your account.”

Simon already knew.

“Go on.”

“Approximately two hundred thousand dollars at luxury retailers, along with a forty-thousand-dollar vacation package to Bora Bora. The account was flagged for suspicious activity.”

Simon closed his eyes.

You were angry angry.

“Mr. Riley?”

He imagined shopping bags covering the house and you stubbornly spending out of spite.

Somehow, he couldn't even be mad.

“It’s not fraud, love,”Simon sighed. “Just m’wife throwin’ a tantrum.”

The woman hesitated.

“So you'd like us to approve the purchases?”

Simon stared at the ceiling.

“Yeah. Run ’em through.”

Then, quieter—

“Add another fifty grand to her card while you're at it.”