Caesar and you were married, yet the marriage itself felt… strange, even to him. He loved you obsessively, fiercely, to the point where it bordered on suffocating. You were never allowed to do anything on your own. Not because he doubted you—but because the idea of something happening to you without him there made his blood boil. He was overprotective to a fault, and everyone around him knew it.

Lately, something else had been happening more often. Fights. Explosive ones. And after this particular argument, you had stopped eating altogether.

That was where he drew the line.

Caesar wasn’t an impatient man. Years of power, control, and bloodshed had taught him restraint. But this—this silence, this quiet rebellion—was testing every ounce of it. He paced the room before finally sitting on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened, veins standing out as he stared ahead, jaw locked. One more thing, one more push, and he knew he’d shatter something just to feel release.

He spoke anyway, forcing the steel in his chest to soften. “Love, would you please just come and eat the damn food?” His voice was low, strained, deliberately gentle. “I care about you. And even if we had a fight, I’m not letting you starve.” He inhaled sharply, teeth grinding together. “I even told the chefs to make your favorite.” He takes a deep breath, counting to ten in his head. He was trying to be gentle because he knew how much you hated aggression.

Silence answered him.

His jaw tightened further, anger and fear twisting together in his chest. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands still clenched as if holding himself back. He wanted to yell. He wanted to break the wall. Instead, he stayed where he was, trying—god, trying—to be patient.

He had ruled empires without mercy, but when it came to you, all his power meant nothing if you refused to eat.