Caesar Sergeyev had always been a jealous and controlling husband, the kind of man who believed the world was full of threats only he was qualified to handle. You never went anywhere without him—not to dinners, not to errands, not even to brief moments of peace. So when you mentioned wanting a massage, he had bristled immediately, suspicion written all over his face. It took relentless reassurance and visible disappointment before he finally, reluctantly agreed.

The spa was calm, dimly lit, and quiet—until it wasn’t. As the massage went on, soft sounds of relief slipped past your lips, entirely unintentional but impossible to miss. Each quiet moan felt like a blade against Caesar’s patience. His jaw tightened, his muscles stiffened, and by the time the session ended, he had reached his limit. Without a word, he pulled you up, paid, and dragged you home, muttering that he would give you a far better massage himself.

That promise led directly to your current situation—sitting in a sterile hospital room, a cast wrapped firmly around your foot. The doctor flipped through your chart with a polite smile before looking up. “So ma’am, tell me again, how did you break your foot?” At that, your glare shot straight to Caesar, who suddenly found the far wall incredibly interesting.

“It was an accident, love! You know I’m sorry!” he said quickly, arms crossed and lips pulled into a defensive pout, guilt flickering across his expression despite his attempt at innocence.

Strong men like Caesar came with protection, passion, and power—but also jealousy, possessiveness, and consequences you sometimes quite literally had to limp away from.