Rebate King: Every Beauty I Spoil Makes Me a Billionaire

Sophie’s gaze dropped to it immediately, a mischievous little smile playing on her lips.

She leaned in slowly, her breath warm against his skin, and sucked the sauce off his lip with tender, deliberate care. Her tongue lingered for a moment, teasing and savoring, before she pulled back just slightly.

Stan let her do as she pleased, his hands resting comfortably on her hips. He knew exactly how affectionate and clingy she could get when she had him all to herself like this, and he loved every second of it.

When she finally finished, his heart swelled with a deep, comforting warmth at how completely wrapped up in him she was tonight.

”Sophie...” he laughed softly, the sound low and fond as he shook his head.

She giggled innocently, though her cheeks were flushed with delight. ”What? You had something on your lip,” she said sweetly, batting her lashes at him. ”It’s my job to keep you clean... and well-fed... and kissed.”

Still settled comfortably in his lap, Sophie nuzzled closer and pressed another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, the same spot she’d just cleaned.

”Besides,” she murmured, smiling against his skin, ”having you here makes me so happy I just want to spoil you in every possible way.”

Stan gave her a knowing look, the kind meant purely to tease her.

In response, Sophie leaned back just enough to bat her lashes at him with exaggerated innocence.

”Don’t look at me like that when you obviously enjoyed it too,” she said, fighting a smile. ”Besides, I was only making sure your lips were clean.”

Stan answered with another look, one that made it abundantly clear he didn’t believe her for even a second.

Sophie promptly dissolved into quiet giggles anyway before picking up another piece of salmon with her fork and patiently bringing it toward his mouth, the affectionate amusement still lingering in her eyes.

Stan opened his mouth obediently.

She fed him with the focused care of someone carrying out a ritual she had been anticipating all evening.

And honestly, the food deserved the attention.

The salmon was excellent, perfectly flaky, rich with herb butter without feeling heavy, balanced with citrus and garlic in a way that tasted genuinely thoughtful rather than simply expensive.

Stan chewed, swallowed, and glanced at her.

”Good?” Sophie asked immediately.

”Very good.”

Her face lit up like she’d personally won an award.

Then she prepared another bite, dipping it lightly into the soup before feeding him again. After that came a forkful of rice. Then broccoli.

Stan eyed the vegetables suspiciously.

Sophie narrowed her eyes right back at him.

”You cannot survive on protein and fried chicken alone,” she informed him seriously. ”Eat your vegetables.”

”You sound like somebody’s wife.”

”That’s because somebody has to keep you alive.”

He ate the broccoli with a smile...

Victorious, Sophie settled more comfortably against him afterward, her head naturally finding the curve of his shoulder while her free hand rested lightly against his chest.

The longer the evening went on, the more she relaxed into him, soft, warm, entirely at home there in the way a cat settles onto a person it has decided belongs to them.

”Tell me about the show,” she said quietly, feeding him another bite.

Stan did.

He kept the explanation simple where it needed to be. Eden Park. The bidding maneuver. Vivian handling negotiations flawlessly. Madeline Chen visibly revising her opinion of him by the end of the evening.

He edited out the parts that needed editing.

The restroom conversation never came up.

Neither did Lily Reeves.

Sophie listened carefully the entire time, occasionally asking surprisingly sharp questions that revealed she’d been paying far more attention to the entertainment industry than she usually pretended to.

”So,” she summarized eventually while feeding him another piece of salmon, ”you casually outmaneuvered three of the biggest entertainment companies in the world.”

Stan snorted softly.

”Vivian did most of the work. I mainly supervised.”

Sophie immediately pointed her fork at him.

”You’re doing that thing again where you give everybody else the credit.”

”It’s accurate.”

”It’s also still you doing the thing.”

She leaned over to kiss his cheek lightly.

”But I’ll let you get away with it tonight.”

Another bite followed, chicken this time.

Stan chewed slowly while watching her in the warm lamplight, taking in the content little concentration on her face every time she prepared the next forkful for him.

Then he reached over and gently took the fork from her hand.

Sophie blinked.

”What?”

”My turn.”

He speared a small piece of salmon and held it toward her lips.

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise.

”Stan, I made this for you...”

”You haven’t actually eaten dinner, have you?”

A tiny pause.

”I had a small lunch.”

”That’s what I thought.”

He held the fork there patiently until, after a brief and visibly charmed hesitation, Sophie opened her mouth and let him feed her.

She chewed slowly, cheeks coloring faintly beneath the warm apartment lighting.

Stan immediately prepared the next bite and fed her again before she could protest.

”This is genuinely good food,” he told her.

Sophie huffed softly.

”You’re only discovering that now?”

”I’m appreciating it on a slower timeline,” he replied. ”You should appreciate yours too.”

.... They ate that way for the next twenty minutes, slowly, alternating bites, the unhurried pace of two people who were not actually hungry for food so much as hungry for the small, ritualized intimacy of being fed by each other in the quiet of a late midnight apartment.

The soup turned out to be exceptional. The rice had been seasoned with more care than rice usually received. The vegetables were unembarrassed and bright.

By the time they finished, Sophie had eaten more than she’d planned to and Stan had eaten more than he’d realized he wanted, and both of them were settled into the kind of post-meal warmth that made the late hour feel less like fatigue and more like permission to slow down completely.

Sophie set the empty plate aside and curled against him with a long, content sigh.

”This is my favorite version of you,” she said quietly.

”What version?”

”The one that comes back to me at midnight after dealing with the world and lets me feed him on the couch.”

Stan was quiet for a moment.

Then he tightened his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

”It’s a good version indeed,” he agreed.