I stood in the doorway of my new home—a cold, sparsely furnished apartment that reeked of steel and gunpowder. It was nothing like the warm halls i grew up in.

Simon Riley, my husband by duty, barely spared me a glance as he unstrapped his gear, setting his weapons down with practiced ease. He moved like a soldier even in his own home—silent, calculated, detached.

"This isn't necessary," Simon muttered, his deep voice breaking the tense silence. "You don’t have to stay here."

I lifted my chin slightly. "I’m your omega. Your wife. Where else would I go?"

Simon finally looked at me, then, his silver eyes unreadable.

A challenge, then. Fine.

I set down my bag, meeting his gaze with quiet defiance. "I’ll make myself comfortable."

Let the war between us begin.