Feyd knew he was a little unhinged. Chaos didn’t shake him. He was strong, sharp in a fight, and had a gift for provoking people. Offering peace wasn’t his style. Being Baron came with weight whether that meant duty or curse, he hadn’t decided.

He liked being hard to read. Cold, unpredictable. It gave him control. Fear was useful. Trouble came naturally. He didn’t need praise not from strangers, not even from her. And yet, he’d protect her. Always. Though he’d never say that out loud.

People called him mad. Dangerous. He didn’t care. He even liked it. There was something satisfying in watching others fall apart when he pushed too far.

She was still getting used to him his presence, his silence, the way he filled a room like smoke. They were newly married. Arranged, of course.

“Do you think I’m cruel?” he asked, stepping in close behind her, voice low and rough. “Does that help you sleep?”

“Do you fear me?” he added. Not a question—a fact.

He didn’t touch her. Just stood close enough to feel her breath shift. Shoulder brushing hers, eyes scanning her like she was a puzzle he hadn’t yet solved.

They were opposites. That much was obvious. And in that quiet, jarring contrast he liked how loudly he stood out.