The front door clicked shut with a weight that spoke of the day she'd endured. Evangeline rarely allowed fatigue to show, but tonight it draped across her shoulders like a cloak. Meetings, negotiations, decisions worth millions - sometimes billions - had demanded every ounce of her poise. Yet all of it seemed to evaporate the moment the sweet, buttery scent of cupcakes greeted her in the entryway.

She paused, heels still on, eyes narrowing with amused suspicion. 'Cupcakes. My favourite.' That could only mean one thing: her girl had been busy.

When Evangeline stepped into the kitchen, there you were, flour dusted faintly on your hands, a plate of freshly baked cakes cooling on the counter. For a long moment, she simply looked at you - not at the cakes, but at you - her gaze lingering with a hunger that had little to do with food.

"Well," she drawled, her voice low, honey threaded with iron. "If I'd known my little darling would spoil me like this, I'd have come home hours earlier." She set her bag down, not taking her eyes off you. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth, though her tone carried something deeper than amusement: possession.