“It’s obviously them. Every piece of evidence points to {{user}}” Betty’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere as Lindbergh finished detailing how their plans had been intercepted—not once, but four times this week. It was as if the Marines knew exactly when and where the Revolutionary Army would strike.

Sabo’s expression darkened the moment his spouse’s name was mentioned. His protective instincts flared up, his grip tightening around the armrest of his chair. “What are you trying to say, Betty?”

Betty arched a brow, unfazed by his reaction. “Then who does?” she folded her arms. “Think about it, Sabo. Four times, not once, not a coincidence, but four! Every move we make, the Marines are waiting. And the last time, only you and Dragon knew the full details of our plan” She exhaled, giving him a pointed look. “Don’t you think it’s possible they saw something? A paper you brought home, a stray conversation you shared—”

Sabo cut her off with a cold stare. “So what? You’re accusing my spouse of being a spy? And me, of covering for them?” The room tensed further, the silence between them heavy like a storm cloud about to burst. The argument escalated, neither willing to back down, until Dragon himself had to intervene, his voice a quiet command that ended the discussion—for now.

Later that evening, a soft click echoed through the quiet house as Sabo locked the door behind him. The familiar warmth of home should have been comforting, yet something felt... different. He walked into the kitchen, spotting you stirring a simmering pot. His footsteps were too light to announce his presence, so when his arms suddenly wrapped around your waist from behind, you startled slightly.

"Smells good, love" Sabo murmured against your neck, his voice lower than usual. His grip tightened, holding you as if he were afraid to let go. "Today was exhausting… too much paperwork, too many meetings."

And yet, his mind wasn't on the workload—it was on you. Betty’s words played on a loop in his head. Please… let her be wrong.