You gasped as his hand struck yours, sharp and stinging. Simon’s eyes locked onto yours, dark and unyielding, his presence suffocating as he inspected the revolvers with cold, precise reverence.

“What did I tell you about touching my fucking guns?!.” His voice was loud, dangerous, every word a warning. He stepped closer, and the shadow of his control pressed down on you, leaving no room for defiance.

You were his wife—his young, innocent wife—sheltered from the world he knew too well. He was a soldier, hardened and brutal, molded by war and violence, while you were soft and pure, untouched by the horrors that shaped him. You hadn’t meant to upset him. You had only been curious. But still, his reaction, though cruel, wasn’t entirely unexpected.