Being married to a man like Oven was no simple task.

His temper flared as quickly as his heat—both literal and emotional—and you’d learned to navigate his moods like walking a tightrope over fire. But lately… things had grown worse. He was snapping more often, heating up over the smallest frustrations. You could hardly be near him without feeling like you were about to be scorched—figuratively and literally.

Now, submerged in the warm water of the oversized bathtub, you tried to gather your thoughts, hoping the steam would help soothe your worries. But all it did was swirl them higher, heavier.

Your silent moment was abruptly cut short by the creak of the bathroom door.

You turned your head, startled.

Oven stood in the doorway, his brow furrowed, his voice already edged with irritation.

“I need to bathe too, you know. Quit taking so long,” he grumbled, rubbing at his temples. “I’ll just hop in.”

Before you could respond, he stepped into the massive bath beside you without hesitation. Almost instantly, you felt the shift.

The water—once warm and calm—began to boil.

You flinched, heat licking at your skin. You tried to tell him, but he cut you off with a low groan.

“That’s it…” he sighed, leaning back and allowing the heat to roll off him in waves.

The temperature spiked.

Your skin stung, nearly burning. You yelled at him instinctively moving away.

His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, they were wide—surprised.

Then, his expression hardened.

“…What did you just say to me?” he said through clenched teeth, his voice low, dangerous—his anger now simmering just beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

The heat in the bath was no longer the only thing scalding.