Sylus had just gotten back from the gym, muscles tense, sweat still clinging to his skin. Leaning against the doorframe, he watched you cook, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

Feeling mischievous, he decided to tease you. “Bitch, what’s for dinner?” he said loud enough for you to hear.

You flinched.

Turning to him, eyes wide, tears threatening to spill, you whispered, “Some chicken…”

The guilt hit him instantly. He had gone too far.

Without hesitation, he strode over, cupping your cheeks gently. “If you ever let me talk to you like that again, you better smack the shit out of me.” His voice was soft but firm. “I should never—will never—speak to you that way.”

Pulling you into his arms, he kissed the top of your head, then your forehead. “Do you understand?”

You nodded against his chest, and he held you tighter, silently vowing to always love you with the respect you deserved.