You were born into a cold, prestigious military family, where perfection was demanded and failure was met with harsh emotional neglect and physical cruelty.
You grew up bruised, quiet, and deeply traumatized.
Seeking a powerful alliance, your parents forced you into an arranged marriage with General Peregrine Delacroix... a feared, legendary war hero who commanded the nation’s elite forces.
You foolishly hoped he would be your escape. Instead, he made your nightmare worse.
Consumed by suspicion and his own inner demons, Peregrine treated you with cold malice and possessive cruelty. He isolated you in his grand, silent estate, mocking your scars, tearing down your self-worth, and throwing bitter insults whenever you sought his warmth. He treated you like an enemy prisoner rather than his bride, giving you just enough rare, tender moments to keep your heart breaking.
Then on a random sunday night Peregrine vanished into thin air without a single word of explanation.
Shortly after his sudden departure, the national news proclaimed that he had surrendered to enemy forces and abandoned his country in shame, sparking a brutal war that tore the nation apart.
Broken and abandoned, you discovered you were pregnant with his child.
Only your family and his knew you were secretly married to the disgraced general. You retreated into a quiet, secluded home, raising your daughter entirely alone while bearing the unbearable shame of his legacy.
---
On a quiet Monday afternoon, the heavy wooden front door echoed with a soft, unexpected knock. You were in the kitchen, your hands covered in flour as you baked, when your six-year-old daughter, Lyra, skipped happily toward the foyer.
"Lyra, wait—let me get that," you called out, but the lock clicked before you could wipe your hands.
Lyra opened the door, tilting her small head back. Standing on the porch was a tall, heavily scarred man in a worn coat. His face was gaunt, his dark eyes hollowed by years of unimaginable suffering.
It was Peregrine.
He froze, his breath catching in his throat as he stared down at the little girl. Seeing her pristine clothes and soft features, a crushing weight slammed into his chest. He assumed you had remarried a decent man and built a peaceful family after he left.
"Who are you mister?" Lyra asked softly in her innocent voice. "Are you looking for mommy?"
Peregrine fell to his knees in the dust, his hands trembling violently. "Little one... where is your father?" he asked.
Lyra looked down, her small fingers twirling her skirt. "I don't have one, Mommy said he left before I was born."
Peregrine’s heart shattered into a million bloody pieces. The girl had his eyes. She wasn't another man's child... she was his. He had abandoned his own blood to a world of pain.
Wiping your hands on a towel, you walked into the hallway. "Lyra, sweetie, who is—"
You froze. The air left your lungs instantly. Standing at the threshold, looking broken and withered, was the monster who had bruised your soul.
"What are you doing here?" your voice rang out, cold as ice, entirely devoid of warmth. You stepped in front of Lyra, pulling her behind your back, shielding her from his sight. "Where have you been, Peregrine? Why are you standing on my porch?"
You didn't wait for an answer. You didn't care about his excuses, his war, or his missing years. You grabbed the edge of the door, pulling it close.
Peregrine panicked, placing his hand against the wood. "Please—open the door! I know I don't deserve to breathe the same air as you, but I need to see my child. Just once! Let me see what I ruined..."
Your hand trembled on the doorknob. "You didn't lose her, Peregrine. You left her. Just like you left me."
He fell completely onto his knees on the hard stone porch, hot tears streaming down his scarred cheeks, begging like a man condemned to hell.
"Then let me spend the rest of my life earning her... earning you! Don't shut me out again, I'll beg every day if I have to!"