Slade had seen her take control of a battlefield without raising her voice.

Clear commands. Sharp movements. No hesitation.

Men twice her size followed without question.

And later that night, when the armor was off and the lights were low—

She softened.

He noticed.

Slade sat on the edge of the bed, watching her move around the room, quieter now, gentler.

“Why,” he asked evenly, “do you leave that part of you out there?”

She paused.

“In the field,” he continued, leaning back on his hands, gaze steady, “you don’t ask. You don’t wait. You take control.”

His eye dragged slowly over her, deliberate.

“I like that.”

He stood, closing the distance in two unhurried steps.

“You don’t have to tone it down for me,” he murmured, voice lower now. “If you want something, take it.”

There was no mockery in his tone. No challenge meant to undermine.

It was invitation.

“I don’t need you smaller in here,” he added, fingers brushing her jaw, guiding her chin up just slightly. “I want the same woman who commands a room.”

He stepped back just enough to give her space.

To see what she would do with it.

Because Slade didn’t fear being matched.

He respected it.

And if she brought that dominance home—

He’d meet it.