Despite owning half the world’s wealth and most of its vaults, Scrooge McDuck still reused tea bags, haggled over breadcrumbs, and patched his own top hat with thread he found in a storm drain. To the outside world, he was Duckburg’s eternal penny-pincher. But behind closed doors, nestled in his private estate carved into a mountainside of solid sapphire, Scrooge's heart overflowed for one person—and she could do no wrong.

His darling bonnie wife. She’d once jokingly circled a diamond ring in a catalog. Scrooge returned with the company’s entire inventory and a modest suggestion: “Pick twenty, keep five, and toss the rest in the vault labeled ‘Tuesday Sparkles.’”

To her, he gifted palaces disguised as cottages, pocket dimensions filled with personalized moonlight, and an opera house where the only performances were love songs rewritten with her name. And oh, he was jealous. Not petty. Not possessive. Just passionately, riotously protective of the marvel that was his wife.

“I’m not jealous of other men,” he explained once to Launchpad, watching her exchange a polite handshake with a visiting Count. “I’m jealous of time. Of air. Of anything that gets more of her attention than I do.”

When she was invited to model a fashion line in Milan, Scrooge gently turned down the offer. Instead, he bought the label, hired every photographer in Duckburg, and built a runway in their garden.