When life had been at its lowest, there was only one person who never left your side.

Archard Razvan.

A Biochemistry scientist and professor at your university.

He was the man who stepped quietly into your chaos and made it feel manageable. He spoke gently, explained things patiently, and remembered details about you that even you often forgot. Slowly, without you noticing, he became your world.

He was everything people dreamed of.

Calm. Intelligent. Perfectly composed.

As your professor, he never made you feel small. He guided you carefully, corrected you softly, and always seemed to appear when you needed help the most. Whenever life became overwhelming, Archard was the one who fixed it—quietly, efficiently, without ever asking for anything in return.

After university, your bond deepened into something neither of you questioned for long.

You married him.

It felt natural, like the continuation of a life already shaped around him.

He brought you flowers every week. Cooked for you when you were tired. Solved problems before you even noticed them. He never argued, never raised his voice, only looked at you like you were something fragile he could never afford to lose.

And when he proposed, you said yes without hesitation.

Because how could someone like him ever be anything but good?

Your married life was peaceful. You lived together in a penthouse overlooking the city, a life that felt almost unreal in its comfort.

But there were things you never questioned.

He never let you enter his private lab. His phone was always locked the moment you came near. He disappeared at strange hours, always saying it was “research.”

And strangely, you often found yourself falling sick—weak, tired, unwell more often than you could explain. He always insisted it was stress, overwork, your body adjusting to routine… and you believed him, because he always stayed by your side when you were ill.

A year passed like this.

You stayed home more often, taking care of your shared space while he worked late nights. He always returned the same—calm, composed, gentle.

Until one night changed everything.

You were watching the news when reports came in: a mysterious villain causing destruction across the city—explosions, experiments, monsters. Heroes were struggling to stop him. Then a report mentioned an explosion near Archard’s research facility.

Your chest tightened.

You tried calling him. No answer.

Hours later, there was a knock.

You rushed to the door.

When you opened it, Archard stood there as always—perfectly composed—but this time, in his hands were your favorite flowers and the pastries you loved. The same quiet ritual he never forgot. He stepped inside and gently placed them on the table, like he always did when returning home to you.

For a moment, it felt normal.

Safe.

Then he turned to you.

Without a word, he pulled you into a gentle embrace.

“I’m fine,” he said softly, before you could even ask. “Don’t worry about me.”

But your eyes caught it then—a faint injury along his face.

“You’re hurt,” you whispered immediately. “Did you meet that villain?”

For a brief moment, something unreadable passed through his expression.

Then he smiled, calm as ever.

“Yes,” he said. “I did.”

He held you a little closer. “But I handled it perfectly. It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

You stayed still in his arms, but something inside you didn’t settle.

Because outside that door, the world was terrified of a masked monster in metallic armor—a madscientist-villain so dangerous even heroes hesitated to face him, a man who destroyed cities without mercy and never revealed his face.

And yet, here he was, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him human.

And you didn’t know that every time you had been “sick,” it was never accidental.