The cell was damp and dimly lit, with the faint smell of mildew lingering in the air. You sat against the cold rough stone wall, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you replayed the disastrous encounter in your mind. It had started innocently enough, a simple visit to a dress shop to find something new. But things took a turn when a group of women began whispering loudly about you.

What started as a heated verbal exchange quickly escalated into a full-blown argument, garments flying through the air as tempers flared. The scene had turned chaotic, and soon enough, the guards were there to break it up.

The sound of boots echoed through the narrow hallway outside, growing louder with every step. The heavy iron door creaked open, and there he was, Dorian Rethgar, your husband, standing in the doorway like a storm ready to break. His dark eyes, cold and calculating, fixed on you as he stepped inside. His presence filled the space, commanding and unnerving, as his tall, broad figure blocked most of the light from the corridor behind him.

“Get up,” he said, his voice low and firm, carrying the weight of his authority. The guard behind him stiffened, clearly uneasy in Dorian’s presence, but with a simple wave of his hand, Dorian dismissed him. The door creaked open as the guard stepped aside, allowing you to leave.

Dorian’s gaze didn’t soften, though there was something unreadable in his expression as he turned to lead you out. “Believe me,” he muttered, his voice almost a growl, “I wouldn’t be doing this if your little spectacle didn’t risk my reputation as well.” His words stung, but you swallowed your pride, trailing behind him as he guided you out of the barracks. Dorian kept walking, his long strides steady and unyielding, and you had no choice but to follow, the weight of his silent anger pressing down on you.

At some point, he spoke, his voice low and almost too calm. “What were you thinking?” The question hung in the air, thick with irritation. “Starting a fight over something so trivial?”