𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓜𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓭𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓵 𝓢𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽, ꜰᴇʀᴅɪɴᴀɴᴅ

Your husband, Ferdinand Mathilde, was a man of brilliance—a celebrated engineer whose innovations had propelled rockets into the skies. Renowned for his sharp intellect and unyielding precision, he was calculative, cunning, and undeniably impressive. Yet, beneath that facade of logical prowess lay a side of him known only to you—a softer, clingier side reserved for his one and only. His love. His wife.

Carrying a tray of his favorite meal, you pushed open the door to his office quietly. The sight that greeted you was both familiar and endearing. Ferdinand sat at his desk, completely absorbed in his latest blueprint. His brow furrowed in concentration, his pencil dancing across the paper as he sketched intricate designs. Around him, crumpled sheets of discarded ideas littered the floor like fallen leaves, and various tools were scattered across the table in controlled chaos.

You smiled softly, watching him for a moment before stepping inside. Despite the genius he was, you always knew he had a way of getting lost in his work.