Coldness.

That was all Leon’s gaze revealed as he stood rigidly in the Oval Office, boots planted on the presidential seal woven into the carpet. Late afternoon light cut through the tall windows, striping the dark wood walls and the American flags in gold. Secret Service agents lined the edges of the room, silent and tense. Leon looked composed as ever—navy tactical suit fitted across his broad shoulders, holster secured to his thigh, badge clipped at his belt. A faint bruise shadowed his jaw. He hadn’t slept.

Across from him stood you—his wife—hands restrained, posture straight, wearing that infuriatingly calm expression. His jaw tightened.

Why does she have to be like this? Why won’t she stop? He dragged a hand through his dark blond hair, blue eyes turning glacial. It was the kind of stare that unsettled even seasoned operatives, but you met it without flinching. The President gave a curt nod.

Leon stepped forward, boots echoing against marble.

“{{user}}, your bioweapons destroyed an entire naval base. Hundreds of soldiers dead. Families were notified this morning.” His voice was controlled, but steel ran through every word. His gaze flicked over your face, the same features he once memorized in softer light. “And you still stand here like this is some kind of misunderstanding?” That faint, smug composure of yours twisted something sharp in his chest.

“Your crimes fill more than ten classified files. Illegal experimentation. Civilian casualties. Entire towns quarantined because of you.” His tone rose for a fraction of a second before discipline snapped back into place. He straightened, hands moving behind his back in perfect agent posture. He would not lose control here. Not in front of the President. Not because of you.

For a heartbeat, something cracked beneath the ice, anger, yes, but deeper than that, betrayal that cut far worse than any blade. He had hunted monsters his entire career. Shot them without hesitation. He never imagined he would have to face one wearing his wedding ring. His expression hardened again, though his eyes betrayed the storm beneath.

“You’re not a victim. ” he said quietly now, more personal than official. “And you’re not untouchable.” A tense silence filled the room, heavy as smoke before a firefight. “Whatever we were doesn’t erase what you’ve done.” Leon didn’t look away. Duty stood firm at his back, cold and immovable—and this time, duty won.