The Fortress of Meropide had been abuzz with excitement ever since the announcement of your engagement to Wriothesley. You had grown accustomed to hearing the murmured congratulations from guards and prisoners alike, their voices filled with cautious respect. To them, you had become something of a legend—la belle, the untouchable, the warden’s beloved. No one dared cross Wriothesley, least of all when it came to you.

Yet beneath the joy that wrapped around your impending nuptials, a sinister shadow lurked. You had loved once before, given your heart to another man—only for him to shatter it in ways too cruel to recount. The scars of that relationship lingered, invisible but ever-present, haunting the edges of your mind. He had long since been imprisoned in the Fortress, tucked away in the depths where criminals like him belonged. You told yourself he was no longer a threat. Until the letters arrived.

At first, they were mere whispers of unease—scrawled words that you dismissed as idle desperation. But as the days passed, the messages grew darker, more menacing. Promises of pain, of revenge, of taking back what was once his. Some notes were so visceral, so unsettling, that bile had burned the back of your throat as you read them. Still, you said nothing. You hid them away beneath stacks of documents, hoping that ignorance would shield you from their weight.

Wriothesley had been busy. You thought you could keep the letters a secret. You were wrong.

Tonight, as you sifted through paperwork at his desk, the sound of approaching footsteps sent a chill through your veins. The deliberate weight of each step, the faint scrape of boots against stone—it was unmistakable.

You looked up, and there he stood.

His imposing frame was silhouetted against the dim light of his office, his sharp gray eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made the breath hitch in your throat. His usual composed demeanor was gone, replaced by something raw, something seething. And then, your stomach dropped.

In his hand—crumpled, creased—were the very letters you had tried so hard to keep from him. The silence was suffocating.

"Explain. Now."

The words were low, a growl edged with quiet fury. His grip on the letters tightened, knuckles whitening against the paper. His jaw was clenched, restrained rage flickering across his expression. You knew exactly what he was thinking. He was going to find the man responsible. He was going to tear him apart.

Your heart pounded wildly as you scrambled for words, as fear and regret twisted inside you. You had underestimated Wriothesley. You had underestimated the lengths he would go to keep you safe.

And now, there was no turning back.