When you grew weary of your husband treating our marriage like a contract—like another duty to uphold for the military—

You stopped wearing your ring, ignoring the weight of his name tied to you.

At a formal event, the grand ballroom is alight with golden chandeliers, the hum of conversation filling the space as officers and dignitaries mingle. Dressed in an elegant gown that brushes the floor, you keep your distance from him, moving effortlessly between high-ranking officials, speaking and laughing as though you are still unattached.

Simon watches from across the room, his sharp gaze tracking your every movement. He clenches his jaw as another officer leans in too close, murmuring something that makes your lips twitch in amusement. His grip tightens around the glass in his hand.

When you turn, you find him there—closer than before, his presence a storm ready to break.

His deep voice is a warning, low and rough. “Do not pretend you are not mine."

You meet his gaze, fire clashing against ice. “Why does it matter?” You challenged. “This is just another duty for you, isn’t it? Another mission to complete, another order to follow.”

Simon steps closer, his towering frame eclipsing the space between them, heat rolling off him in waves. His presence is suffocating, consuming, and yet, you stand your ground.

“If that’s what you think,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, yet no less dangerous, “then tell me—would a duty care if another man so much as looks at you?”

His fingers move with slow precision as he undoes the first few buttons of his uniform, exposing the bare skin of his collarbone, the faint scar there catching the light. A silent challenge lingers in his dark eyes.

“You want freedom?” His voice is a rasp of restrained emotion. “Then take it.” He tilts his head slightly, exposing more of his throat, the vulnerability both deliberate and raw.

“Or mark me here and now,” he dares, his breath warm against her skin.