The room was dim, moonlight spilling softly through the sheer curtains. The world outside was still. Inside, your husband,

Matthew Rhys—the man feared by all, but known only to you as your gentle protector—rested his head against your chest. The weight of his silence was heavier than his body. He's disable and unable to walk after getting attacked by the rival organization, always depending on the wheelchair and only you trustingly.

Your fingers threaded gently through his soft dark hair. “You okay, love?” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss on his temple.

He didn’t answer at first. Then came his voice—deep, hoarse, but carrying a strange edge. “Darling… have you ever thought about it? We don’t have any heirs yet.”

You smiled softly, your hand never stopping its gentle movements.

“Matthew… don’t think about these things when you're still recovering. I’m happy just having you.”

He slowly pulled back, his dark eyes meeting yours with an intense spark.

“Do you really think I’m so weak now?”

he asked, his voice low, laced with challenge.

“No, sweetheart. I may be in a wheelchair—but I’m still strong enough to give you thousands of heirs. Starting tonight, if you let me.”