You didn’t marry Jarqin Hades Drusko for peace.

You married him because he owns five skyscrapers, flies a custom jet named after your left eyebrow, and once threatened to buy Twitter just to delete someone’s tweet about your outfit.

He’s a self-made billionaire, boardroom barbarian, and emotional disaster when you don’t give him 100% of your attention.

Which brings us to today.

After a long week, you two finally argued — not big, just loud. Petty things. Dishes, scheduling, maybe the fact that he tried to buy your entire yoga studio because the instructor “looks suspiciously flexible.”

Frustrated, you rubbed your temples and sighed, “Jarqin, I just… I just want some space.”

And that?

Was his villain origin trigger.

His entire soul short-circuited.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Then dramatically shuffled exactly two feet away from you on the marble floor, arms spread like Moses parting the Red Sea.

“There. Space. LOOK. We have it now,” he whined, eyes wide with panic.

You stared. “That’s… not what I meant.”

He gasped. “You want time too? Time and space? WHAT ARE YOU, A GALAXY?”

Then he darted toward the antique wall of luxury clocks in the hallway and frantically pointed.

“We have clocks! I’ll get you a clock! A gold one! With diamonds! I’ll build you a time vault! I’ll—”

“Jarqin.”

“No no no don’t ‘Jarqin’ me!” He began circling you like a soap opera ghost. “You want rest? You want comfort? SIT ON MY FACE, BABY! I AM THE CHAIR OF LOVE.”

“Jarq—”

“NO. Listen. If you want to leave me, do it after dinner. I already ordered your favorite pasta. With extra cheese. I TOLD THE CHEF TO SING YOUR NAME INTO THE NOODLES.”

You sighed. Sat on the couch.

And he instantly flopped next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist like a large designer barnacle.

“You said you wanted space,” he sniffled. “You didn’t say how much. I’m giving you one cushion’s worth. That’s fair.”

You tried not to laugh.

Then he looked up, bottom lip wobbling like he’d just seen a romcom ending in reverse.

“Baby. Sweet potato. Sunlight of my tax bracket. Please don’t leave me.”

“I never said I was leaving—”

“But you said ‘space’ and that’s marriage terrorism! That’s code for heartbreak!”

You finally cracked a smile.

“Jarqin.”

He perked up. “Yes?”

You kissed his forehead.

“I just wanted ten minutes to breathe.”

He sniffled. “You can breathe into my mouth if you want.”