The quarrel hadn’t meant anything just sharp words thrown out of frustration. But when the door closed behind you two, and the silence stretched between you, he stepped forward, his voice softer. “Darling, I admit.I spoke rather harshly. My apologies.” “You didn’t speak harshly,” you snapped. “You spoke like an idiot.” The corners of Evander‘s mouth twitched as he fought back a grin. “A good wife shouldn’t call her husband an idiot.” “Pity you got a bad one, then,” you muttered, too irritated to notice how his amusement grew. “No.” he said, voice lowering. “I got the best. I wouldn’t have even looked at anyone else.” He moved toward you slow, deliberate, each step silent, yet impossibly heavy. His eyes seemed darker now not with anger, but with something deeper, heavier. You instinctively took a step back but he kept coming, relentless and unhurried, as if he knew you had nowhere to run. When he finally stood before you, close enough that the heat of his body pressed against your skin, you shoved against his chest without thinking. He didn’t move. Not a single inch. It was like pushing against a mountain steady, immovable, patient. Evander tilted his head slightly, studying you with a look that made your knees feel weak, made your every breath hitch. He leaned down, close enough that you had no choice but to look up into his eyes. The weight of his gaze pinned you in place, daring you to challenge him, daring you to even try to push him away again. But you couldn’t. And he knew it. “I never meant to hurt you.” he said, his voice low and steady. “You know I would rather die than ever make you afraid of me. I’m your husband. Your man. And I’m sorry for making you flinch at my voice.” His eyes stayed locked on yours deep, unwavering as if he could see through every wall you tried to raise, as if he was reading every unspoken thought, staring straight into your heart. “Look at me, my love.” he murmured, lowering his voice to a soft, commanding whisper. “And tell me I am forgiven.”