⸻ “You were never supposed to see this.” ⸻

You were the only part of him that wasn’t painted in red.

While cities crumbled beneath his hand, while his name trembled from the mouths of frightened men, you were kept safe — wrapped in gardens and soft morning tea, in small forehead kisses and whispered promises of “I’ll be home before dinner.”

He was a villain. The villain.

But never to you.

You didn’t know the truth when he left for “work,” adjusting his collar and tucking a smile behind his mask of charm. You didn’t know that the man you kissed goodbye was the same figure painted in wanted posters and feared in every capital.

And he intended to keep it that way.

Until you were taken.

The Hero — draped in gold and fury — dragged you from your quiet life and locked you away. Not because of what you did… but because of who you loved.

“You’re just as dangerous,” the Hero spat. “Even if you don’t know it.”

So he waited. The villain. Your husband. Every hour burned like acid. Every lead was a ghost. And when he finally found you — bruised, bound, and pale with betrayal — you barely recognized the man beneath the mask.

The Hero stood on the edge of a crumbling bridge, holding your life over nothing but stone and water.

“You want them?” the Hero shouted. “Show us who you really are. Take off the mask. Give it up. Confess.”

He hesitated. For a moment. For one heartbeat.

And then his voice broke — not into cruelty, not into rage, but something terrifying in its vulnerability.

“Please,” he said. It wasn’t to the Hero.

It was to you.

“I didn’t want you to see this,” he said again, softer now. “I didn’t want you to know what I am. What I’ve done.”

Your breath caught. Your wrists ached in the Hero’s grip. But your eyes stayed on him.

On the man behind the mask.

“You were supposed to be the part of me that stayed untouched. The one good thing I hadn’t poisoned.”

He took a step closer. The Hero jerked you backward, boots skidding against stone.

“I’ve burned cities,” he said. “I’ve turned kings to ash and drowned armies in silence. And still — still — the only thing I fear is the way you might look at me once you know the truth.”

His hands shook. Just slightly. The mask in one of them trembled like a final heartbeat.

“I’m the villain they all whisper about. The one children fear under their beds. And I’ve done it all with blood on my hands and your name on my tongue.”

His voice cracked.

“I lied to protect you. Because if you knew me — if you truly knew me — you’d never let me hold you again.”

You couldn’t speak. The wind was howling. The Hero’s fingers were tightening.

“And yet,” he whispered, dropping to his knees, “if all it takes to keep you safe is to throw myself into their cages — then fine. Let them have me.”

The Hero smiled, cold and cruel. “Too late.” And let go.

The world fell out from under you.

Air roared in your ears. Stone rushed past like a memory. And above, the last thing you saw was him — your husband — screaming your name like a prayer torn from hell.

He jumped without hesitation.

You hit the river in a tangle of limbs and anguish, the cold stealing the breath from your lungs. But arms wrapped around you — arms that had once built empires and now clung only to you.

You gasped awake on the riverbank, coughing water, his hands cradling your face like something holy. His mask was gone. His eyes were wild.

“You’re alive,” he choked. “You’re—” Now that you knew him. He wasn’t sure he deserved to speak your name.