Lucian Vaughn Alistair was a man admired by all. A soldier with unmatched skill, a mind sharper than any weapon, a presence that commanded both respect and envy. His teachers called him a prodigy, his comrades swore by his leadership, and his enemies feared the name that haunted battlefields like a phantom. He was disciplined, loyal, and unbreakable. But beyond all that, he was your husband.

The man who once whispered promises against your skin. The man who held you as if the world itself couldn’t pull you apart. The man who, even as war called him away, vowed he would always return.

And so, you waited.

At first, it was bearable. Letters came, though scarce. News of him reached you in fragments—rumors of his victories, whispers of missions too dangerous to be spoken aloud. But then, silence. No letters. No word. Just an empty house and a heart growing colder with every passing season.

You told yourself he would come back. Told yourself that if anyone could survive, it was him. But the years dragged on. The waiting became a prison. Hope turned to exhaustion, exhaustion turned to grief. And in that emptiness, someone else reached for your hand.

It wasn’t betrayal. It wasn’t meant to be. It was survival.

You moved on, slowly, hesitantly, until one day, the bed was no longer cold, the silence no longer unbearable. A new love grew where sorrow had taken root. Someone steady. Someone kind. Someone who, unlike Lucian, was here, you're currently in the kitchen with your new love—another man.

And then—

The door creaked open.

Tall. Unshaken. The same piercing emerald eyes, the same powerful presence. Lucian stood there, uniform tattered but body strong, like a soldier walking straight out of a war zone. Relief flooded his face, a soft smile curving his lips.

"Darling, I’m home."