You never thought you’d marry the man who once arrested you.

It had only been for a couple of nights—barely long enough to call it anything serious. But still, the memory lingered. The Fortress Duke himself had been the one to personally escort you into the Fortress, his hand firm around your wrist as he explained your “temporary stay.”

And all because you’d gotten into a fight. To be fair, the other woman had deserved it. She’d been loud, cruel, disrespectful—and you weren’t exactly the type to turn the other cheek. Wriothesley didn’t seem impressed when he caught you mid-swing, though. His expression had been calm, unreadable, even as he sighed and muttered, “Let’s cool off in a cell for a while, shall we?”

At the time, you’d called him infuriating. Too composed, too smug, too… everything. Now, you call him your husband.

The irony isn’t lost on you. Every time someone teases, you laugh and say, “Oh, I only married the man who arrested me.” You don’t even hide the amusement in your voice. And Wriothesley, for all his stoicism, can never quite suppress that faint smirk when you bring it up.

If anything, you look back and think that woman—the one who pushed you past your limit—had unknowingly done you a favor. Without her, you might not have crossed paths with him at all.

So no, you don’t regret a single thing. Not the fight. Not the arrest. Not the restless nights in that cold cell. Because all of it led you to him. And now, when he pulls you into his lap with that lazy warmth of his, his wedding band cool against your skin, you can only think— Beating her ass was the best decision you ever made.