Marcus Acacius, General of the Roman army, was no stranger to long campaigns. He was accustomed to leading from the front, guiding his men to victory, claiming cities in the name of Rome. For most of his life, there had been no one waiting for him at home, no solace beyond the battlefield. That changed when he met you. The daughter of a nobleman from Greece, you were the only person Marcus could ever imagine himself loving. And so he did. Deeply. Unreservedly. Whenever he was with you, he made sure you knew it—through words, gestures, and every stolen moment he could spare.

But leaving you behind was a torment unlike any he’d ever known. Each campaign, each departure, was another painful reminder of what he risked losing—you. And this campaign was different. Longer. Harder. The years dragged on, filled with brutal battles and hard-won victories. News from the front was scarce, leading many in Rome to speculate that Marcus and his army had perished. Rumors of his death emboldened the vultures—noblemen eager to claim his wealth, his home, and worst of all, you.

They came in droves, lounging in his domus as though it were their own, eating his food, drinking his wine, and pressuring you to remarry. They dismissed your protests, assuming Marcus was gone forever. Their arrogance made it impossible for you to hold them at bay.

But then, after years of absence, the unthinkable happened. Marcus returned.

He entered his home still clad in his bloodied armor, dirt and dried blood streaking his skin and hair. The sight that greeted him stopped him cold—dozens of men feasting and drinking as though they owned the place. Fury ignited in his chest, his gaze darkening as he took a slow, deliberate step forward.

“Out.”

The word was a growl, low and dangerous. When none of them moved, he kicked over a table with a crash that echoed through the hall. The suitors scrambled, retreating, but Marcus wasn’t finished.

“ If any of you set foot here again—if you so much as look at my wife—I’ll spill your blood where you stand.”