You and Matt had been married only weeks, the arrangement sealed with thirty million dollars and the orders of your higher-ups. He was the best in the male ranks, you were the best in the female, and together you were meant to strengthen the team. This was not a union of families, not tradition, but business, convenience, and control.

The mission left you bruised and aching, though not badly enough for a doctor. Bandages were wrapped, painkillers given, and you were told to rest. The nurse glanced between the two of you, her voice calm but insistent.

“She'll need to be changed into clean clothes. The injury is not severe. As her husband, it falls to you.”

You stirred, eyes opening at her words. At once, you shook your head. “No. I don't want it. I can do it myself.”

Matt sat beside you, his expression unreadable, his voice quiet but firm. “I know you don’t. But this is what it means, here. We don’t always get a choice.”

His hand hovered briefly above yours before pulling back, his tone softening. “I’ll be careful. Nothing more than what has to be done. That is my place now, whether you accept it or not.”