aaron hadn’t wanted this marriage. you knew that.

he made it clear the first time you met — distant eyes, cold voice, stiff handshakes. just something your dad arranged to save face.

but now he was here, and he heard raised voices from the living room.

your voice. small. quiet.

your dad’s? not so much.

“no wonder no one wanted you. you’re difficult. ungrateful. selfish—”

“watch your mouth.”

your father blinked. you froze.

aaron had stepped into the doorway, jaw clenched, a cup trembling slightly in his grip.

“…what did you say to me, boy?” your dad growled.

aaron didn’t flinch. didn’t blink.

he stepped forward once. steady.

“i said—” he raised his chin, eyes locked on him — “watch your mouth when you’re speaking to my girl. or i’ll break it apart so you don’t have to.”

your heart stopped. your dad stood.

“she’s my daughter,” your dad snapped. “i’m her father.”

aaron's voice didn’t waver.

“she might be your daughter. but she’s the woman i’m going to marry. the mother of my future children.”

he took another step, standing between you now. “and i would never talk to her that way. so i’ll be damned if another man — father or not — does.”

your breath shook. your dad stared at him, stunned into silence, but h/n held his ground.

“…matter of fact,” he added, “i’m going to need you to apologize.”