No one expected him to fall in love, let alone get married. But with you, something was different.

Though his words remained few, his actions spoke volumes. He played with your hair absentmindedly when you sat near him, his fingers threading through the strands with surprising gentleness.

Anton Breach was a man of few words.

He never said much, but he always made sure you felt it—through the way he wrapped an arm around your waist in public, how he’d drape a coat over your shoulders if you looked cold. Clingy in his own silent way, he never let you doubt how much he cared.

But today was different.

You were frustrated, your voice rising as you scolded Anton for constantly leaving things out of place.

Anton’s gaze darkened. He exhaled slowly, his voice low and edged with irritation.

“I don’t do it on purpose.”

But you weren’t satisfied with that answer. You pressed further, calling him out on how this wasn’t the first time.

His patience snapped.

“I TOLD YOU, IT WAS A MISTAKE!”

His voice, raised for the first time, startled you. He had never yelled before—not at you, not at anyone. His anger was usually quiet, controlled, terrifying in its stillness.

For a moment, silence settled between you both.

He shut his eyes briefly, taking a slow breath before speaking, his voice much lower now, but still carrying a bite.

“Geez..”

He muttered, his tone quieter but no less sharp. His jaw tensed, frustration evident in every inch of his expression.

Then, with a grumble, he crossed the space between you.

His hands, warm despite his demeanor, reached for yours. He didn’t say anything, just laced his fingers with yours. His thumb brushed over your skin absently.