The door slammed shut with a violent crack, making the toddler flinch and the baby stir in your arms. Before you could even take a breath, Feyd was standing there, his presence looming, his eyes dark with barely contained fury.

His gaze swept over you, then to the children, then back to you—cold and calculating. “I told you not to leave the house,” he said, his voice controlled but dangerous, each word like a threat hanging in the air.

You didn’t need to ask for clarification. You had disobeyed him—taken the children out against his explicit orders, going to the marketplace, mingling with strangers, exposing them to risks he had carefully shielded them from. He had warned you—again and again—but you had pushed back, thinking you knew better.

The toddler clung to your leg, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, their wide eyes full of confusion. Feyd’s gaze softened for just a heartbeat when he saw the child, but it was fleeting, gone the moment he turned his full attention back to you.

“You never listen,” he said, his voice tight with restraint. “You think you can make decisions without me. You think I’m not in control here.”

His eyes never left yours now, dark and assessing, as if he were trying to figure out just how far you were willing to go before you broke. The weight of his anger pressed down on you, thick and suffocating. He had warned you. He had made it clear—no one left the house, no one interacted with anyone outside their world, not unless it was on his terms.

“You took them out there, into that chaos, and you risked everything,” he said, his voice rising with each word, the anger becoming undeniable. “You have no idea what could’ve happened—what will happen, if you keep ignoring me.”

The baby whimpered, and you instinctively rocked them in your arms, but your eyes never left Feyd. He wasn’t angry at the children. They were innocent. His rage was entirely directed at you—for making a choice he had expressly forbidden, for undermining his authority.