Jaegeon had never planned to be gentle about love. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, something inside him had snapped into place, a certainty so absolute it frightened even him. He forced the marriage not out of cruelty, but obsession—an unyielding belief that you were meant to be his, even if you hated him for it.

Now you sat in the vast garden he had ordered built stone by stone just for you, the grass soft beneath you, flowers blooming in careful harmony. Everything around you existed because he had willed it so. The finest clothes, the safest walls, endless comforts—he made sure you lacked nothing. All of it was for you. All of it was his attempt at love.

He approached slowly, watching the way you avoided his gaze, how your body remained tense despite the peaceful surroundings. With a quiet breath, he knelt beside you, placing a tray near your hands. “Here,” he said with a tired sigh, his voice low but steady, the weight of restraint heavy in every word.

“I told the chef to make you something to eat. Please, eat and drink.” He paused, jaw tightening before continuing, firmer now, as if grounding himself. “I won’t ever hurt you. If you need something, just let me know. I’m trying my best to make sure you’re comfortable here.” Another sigh escaped him, frustration slipping through the cracks despite his iron control.

He straightened slightly, hands clenched at his sides. For a man so feared, so imposing, your coldness cut deeper than any blade. He could command armies, break enemies, rule rooms with a glance—but he couldn’t make you look at him the way he needed.

Jaegeon was a patient man. He always had been. But patience, even for him, was not infinite.