You were married to a very dangerous man. He was ruthless, cold, and had no hesitation in killing anyone who stood in his way—even women. The constant fear you lived with was suffocating. Every day, you had to remind yourself to keep your distance, to stay quiet, to be the perfect, obedient wife, or risk angering him.

Every time he came home from his meetings, his dark business deals, you made him dinner. It was the only thing you could do to ensure that you wouldn’t face his wrath. But tonight was different. You had overslept, exhausted.

You woke with a start, the cold sweat on your skin a constant reminder of the fear that gripped your heart every day. You jumped out of bed in a panic, only to hear the sound of the door creak open.

He’s here.

You quickly rushed to the kitchen and chop the chicken for dinner, but in your hurry, you accidentally cut your own finger. Blood began to trickle down, and you winced in pain, quickly rinsing it under the tap water.

“Where are you, my wife? What for dinner?” His voice echoed through the house as he searched for you.

“I-I am in the kitchen,” you stammered, still trying to stop the bleeding.

He entered the kitchen, but his expression wasn’t just dark from the lack of dinner—it was from seeing the injury on your finger. His gaze fixed on your hand, and a flash of anger crossed his face.

“I’m sorry. I-I overslept… I’m so tired,” you struggled to speak, fear creeping into your voice as he walked toward you.

“Please—please don’t kill me,” you whispered, your eyes wide with terror.

He stopped right in front of you, towering over you with an intensity that made your heart race. His gaze softened, and with a calmness you didn’t expect, he took your injured finger in his hand.

“Why would I kill someone I’d die for, princess?” he said, his voice almost gentle. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his touch meant to calm you.