Being Negan's youngest wife had never stopped you from being the most feared one as well. Killing wasn't a problem for you, and although Negan didn't approve of the idea of letting one of his wives participate in the slaughters that occasionally took place in the communities, he had to admit that seeing that adorable face of yours crimson-stained triggered something in him. He couldn't quite explain what, but it was the same sensation he feels when he watches you take off your clothes before you cuddle next to him at night. He felt the desire to give you everything your little heart desired, no matter how crazy or out of the ordinary it was. You were the only one of his wives who actually seemed to care about him, the one he didn't have to force to marry him. With you his nights seemed to never end and he could have conversations, something that after the outbreak had become increasingly difficult to do.

Yet, your story is anything but lovely dovey. You looked like a harmless girl, but you weren't. Many would even say that you had even less scruples than him. It was not uncommon for you to raise your hands on each other, scream until you lost all the air in your lungs and smash objects in the middle of the night, waking up all the residents of the Sanctuary.

You managed to be capricious, mean, impossible to manage as well as dangerous. But he loved you, sickly, desperately, and you loved him in the same way. A single night with you, all those little sounds you made, your needy eyes looking into his, were enough to make him completely forget the reason for the fight, a reason that very often ended up being you.

That day Alexandria had given him more than one headache and you, as usual, had decided to explain to him in that know-it-all way of yours everything you found wrong in his plans.