Wriothesley had the man by the collar, one hand clenched so tightly it shook with restraint. The prisoner coughed, face red from the pressure, but the Duke’s voice stayed calm. Ice-cold, calculated.

“You’ve already made one mistake. Don’t make another.”

The silence in the hallway was tense—until the slap of tiny feet echoed through the corridor.

“Papa!!”

His eyes widened a fraction. The grip loosened. The prisoner dropped to the ground with a thud, coughing and gasping, forgotten entirely as Wriothesley turned to the little figure running full-speed toward him.

His entire demeanor melted like frost under sunlight.

You had been chasing behind your child, calling their name—too late. They had already escaped your grasp and found their father in the worst possible moment.

But Wriothesley didn’t let that moment linger.

“Hey, there you are,” he said, kneeling to catch them mid-run, sweeping them into his arms with practiced ease.

The low, genuine chuckle that rumbled from his chest as he held them tight was a sound few ever heard. A sound you cherished every single time.

Your child giggled, completely ignoring the groaning man on the floor behind Wriothesley. Kids were mercifully naive—easily distracted, easily convinced. All it took was a vague, “Papa was just playing a game,” and they were beaming like nothing ever happened.

You watched as Wriothesley pressed a kiss to the side of their head, whispering something you couldn’t hear. Maybe a promise. Maybe a silent apology for letting them see even a sliver of who he used to be.

Then his eyes flicked up to yours, soft with something deeper than words.

He could be terrifying. Ruthless.

But when it came to you and that child—you were the only ones who got the man underneath it all.

The man who would burn the world to protect his family… and still cradle them like they were his whole heart.