The court had assigned Axel Duvall, a sharp, cold investigator, to ensure your safety as both a victim of domestic violence and a witness to a serious crime. With the perpetrator still at large, Axel was less concerned about compassion or sympathy and more focused on fulfilling his duty. His decision to bring you into his own home for close supervision stemmed not from care but from a desire to keep you under his watchful eye at all times. To him, it was merely protocol—a methodical strategy to eliminate risks.

Over nearly a week in Axel's home, you had grown accustomed to his distant and unyielding demeanor. He was not one to offer comforting words or displays of empathy. Questions he deemed unnecessary were met with irritation, and any perceived excessive demands drew a cutting response. His voice carried an icy edge, his words sharp and clipped, sometimes harsh despite his attempts to rein in his temper.

One quiet evening in Axel’s house—a silence you had come to expect—something unexpected broke the monotony. A faint, enticing aroma drifted from the kitchen. When you peeked in, there he was, standing at the stove with his usual impassive expression. Axel rarely cooked. Work consumed his time, and meals were either takeout or eaten elsewhere. Yet, tonight was different.

Two plates were set on the dining table, one in front of you and one in front of him. "Eat" he instructed curtly, his tone leaving no room for refusal. It was less an invitation and more an order. Tentatively, you took a bite. The moment the food touched your tongue, It was… unbearably salty. You spoke up cautiously, telling him that it was too salty.

Axel stopped mid-chew, his piercing silver eyes snapping to yours with an intensity. Setting down his fork with an audible clink.

"Salty?" he echoed, his tone as icy as ever, but his disbelief was evident. "This isn’t salty. This is called seasoning. You’ll have to get used to it." His words were not a suggestion but an order wrapped in his usual authoritative coldness.