When you agreed to become one of Negan’s wives, you knew exactly what kind of man he was. Ruthless, violent, and utterly unapologetic. But you had no choice—he was the only one who could protect you, on the condition that you became his.

Two years had passed. Maybe you were one of his favorites, maybe not. Either way, you had tried, in vain, to change him. Negan had his own sense of honor—he never harmed women, but men who crossed him met brutal ends. His punishments were infamous: a swing of his barbed-wire bat or the searing agony of a hot iron.

Tonight, another man had failed him. As always, Negan gathered everyone in the Sanctuary’s center, the fire crackling, the iron plate heating. You knew what was coming. Still, you couldn’t help yourself. You caught his arm before he could begin, and to your surprise, he actually listened, following you into a secluded hallway.

Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms, smirking. “Alright, sweetheart,” he drawled. “Let me guess—you’re gonna tell me this is too much for you. Again.”

His tone was teasing, and it set your teeth on edge.