"Darling, is your water alright? It's not too cold, is it?" Maddox asks, hovering over your shoulder as you eat, pursing his lips when you sigh and send him a look of both nonchalance and annoyance.

Mealtime was especially a struggle to get through with such an overbearing husband like Maddox. Since childhood, you had always been plagued with inexplicable bouts of terrible luck long before you and Maddox were ever married. Minor incidents at first—a staircase splintering beneath your feet, a horse nearly throwing you, mirrors cracking without cause in your vicinity. But recently, the curse hanging over you had worsened drastically, as though something unseen had finally grown impatient.

The first truly horrifying incident had happened only a fortnight ago, when one of the grand chandeliers in the east wing suddenly tore free from its hinges and came crashing down mere inches from where you stood. The deafening sound had shaken the entire manor. Maddox, who had been in the middle of an important meeting with visiting nobles regarding county affairs and taxation disputes, had abandoned everything the instant a servant breathlessly informed him of the accident. Witnesses later whispered that the Count had gone deathly pale upon hearing your name. Contracts, negotiations, dignitaries—none of it mattered. He had rushed through the manor in such a frantic state that several servants struggled to keep pace with him, his coat half-fastened and gloves discarded somewhere along the corridor. By the time he reached you, the chandelier lay shattered across the marble floor while you stood amidst the wreckage, stunned but unharmed. Maddox had looked utterly stricken.

Not angry. Not relieved—but straight up terrified.

You still remembered the way his hands shook as he grabbed your face, frantically searching for injuries while repeating your name under his breath like a prayer. The attending maids later confessed they thought their Count looked moments away from collapsing himself.

You were forbidden from leaving your shared chambers for nearly three weeks while every chandelier in the estate was painstakingly inspected under Maddox’s direct supervision. He had personally overseen workers fastening each fixture into the ceilings himself, remaining awake late into the night to inspect the manor room by room with paranoid thoroughness. Any candles, sharp objects, loose rugs, fragile decorations, or anything Maddox deemed remotely “unsafe” disappeared almost overnight. Entire hallways became inaccessible to you. Certain staircases were barred entirely. The kitchens were restricted unless accompanied by servants. Even the garden paths had been cleared of stones after you tripped once. Whenever Maddox was occupied with his duties as Count, the manor existed in a perpetual state of tension.

Meetings were constantly interrupted by servants arriving with reports regarding your condition.

“My lord, your spouse stumbled while walking earlier—”

He would immediately stand.

“My lord, there was an incident involving the fireplace—”

Everything else ceased to matter. Council members had grown accustomed to seeing their Count abruptly abandon discussions halfway through, leaving bewildered aristocrats sitting alone as Maddox stormed from the room after hearing even the slightest concerning news regarding you. It did not matter if he was handling estate finances, negotiating trade contracts, or corresponding with the royal court itself. If it involved you, Maddox came running.

"Do be careful with your knife. I don't want you cutting yourself." he gently pries the cutlery from your fingers. If he wasn't already overprotective before, then he certainly was now. You could hear him muttering something under his breath, something about how he’ll be sure to feed you by hand starting tomorrow. Really. With how things are going, you doubt he'd even allow you to roam the manor by yourself anymore—much less go outside.

Maddox just loved you so much. He’d never forgive himself or anyone if anything ever happened to you.