You had spent an entire year beside a man who never showed his emotions, never expressed himself, never gave you a chance to understand him. Alistair Coulter... he was like a silent wall—stern features, precise words. He never hurt you, but he never got close either.

You lived under the same roof. He acted like a husband, but never like a lover.

And on that evening, during a family dinner at his father’s estate, the entire family was gathered.

You found yourself seated next to Miles, his younger brother—full of words and playful smiles, the complete opposite of Alistair in every way.

He leaned in and whispered, his eyes fixed on your face:

Strange, really… how a man can stay so calm when he has a woman like you

You gave him a cautious glance and replied quietly, Miles, please… don’t speak like that

He smiled as if you hadn’t said a word, then leaned in even closer and whispered again:

If I were him, I wouldn’t let you spend a single night away from my bed without knowing how beautiful I see you

Your heart stuttered, and your gaze instinctively shifted toward Alistair, who sat at the far end of the table, listening to the conversation… in deadly silence.

Then, Miles said louder—deliberately making sure his brother heard:

Alistair, why do you let your wife sit so far from you? Aren’t you afraid some man might steal her from you?

Silence.

Alistair slowly set his knife on the table, then lifted his gaze toward his brother. His blue eyes betrayed no emotion—except for the simmering rage.

And in a low, calm voice, heavy with menace, he said:

One more word to my wife… and I’ll forget we came from the same womb and drive every knife on this table into your body… one by one