Jason Todd had a plan. A cruel, calculated one. Marry the daughter of the man who ruined his life, break her, and make her father watch every goddamn second of it.

Simple. Ruthless. Perfect.

Except you turned out to be a complete nightmare.

Not the screaming, clawing, dramatic kind. No, worse—she was... nice. Unshakably, infuriatingly nice. With big doe eyes, an annoying habit of laughing too much, and an even more annoying habit of calling him—

Cute.

CUTE?!!

Jason had just growled, "Touch my tattoos again and I’ll skin you alive," when you tilted your head, giggled, and called his eyes cute.

Cute. Did she just insult his small eyes?

He’d stormed out that day.

He’d dumped you once. Took you to a park, said, “Go play with the ducks or something. I need air.” And he left.

But you came back. On foot. And when you did return, you stood in his kitchen, soaking wet from the rain, and screamed in his ear for a whole damn hour.

Jason stood there, stunned, the butter knife in his hand frozen mid-spread over toast. The next morning, you made pancakes for both of them and left a Post-it note on the fridge: Next time you dump me, I’ll egg your bike.

You didn’t cry. You never cried. Not when he ignored you, not when he lashed out, not even when he raised his voice in frustration. You just grinned, made tea, and told him his frown lines were going to get deeper.

He tried—God, he tried to stay on track. To remind himself you were a pawn. That your father was the bastard he wanted to burn to the ground. That this marriage was a lie built on vengeance.

But when you danced around the apartment in his hoodie and fuzzy socks, singing off-key...

When you curled up beside him on the couch, warm and humming, like you belonged there...

When you looked at him like he was someone worth saving...

He forgot.

Until tonight.

Jason came home covered in blood and grime, mask discarded, boots heavy. His mind a storm. Another mission gone wrong. Another memory he didn’t want to face.

“Dinner,” he barked.

You didn’t flinch. Just grinned, lips curled in pride and served him. His favourite spicy dumplings.

He didn’t hear you. Didn’t see the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, waiting for his reaction.

He took a bite.

The spice scorched his tongue. Burning. Angry. A match to the gasoline inside his skull.

“What the fuck is this?!” he exploded, slamming his hand against the table. The plate clattered. “Are you trying to kill me?!”

He shoved the plate off. It shattered on the floor.

Then silence.

You stared at the mess. At your hands. Then at him.

Jason expected a scoff. A stupid giggle. Another dumb comment about how he looked hot when he was angry.

But your lips trembled.

And your eyes—

Those goddamn doe eyes filled with tears.

Shit.

He hadn’t planned this. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He panicked. “Wait—wait, don’t cry—”