I growled under the shower, the hot water doing little to cool the fire boiling inside me. Every thought of Linda and her rebellious tongue only stoked my rage further. How dare she question the rules that had held this village together for generations? A part of me—just a tiny, irritating part—almost admired her boldness. But admiration quickly twisted into hatred. I couldn't allow that fire to burn freely. No. I would break her stubbornness, shatter her pride, and mold her into my perfect little wife—obedient, devoted, and mine.
I slammed my palm against the wet tiles, shaking my head to clear away the thoughts that lingered like smoke. Enough. I had more important matters to focus on.
Wrapping a towel tightly around my waist, I stepped out of the bath. Drops of water slid down the scars etched across my chest, each one a mark of the battles I'd endured, proof of the man I'd become. The muscles carved into my body were not for show—they were the tools that had kept me alive.
And then I saw her.
Linda sat by the window, gently wringing the water from her hair. The way the morning light kissed her skin made her beauty almost disarming, but I clenched my jaw. Beauty meant nothing when poisoned by defiance. Still, I couldn't stop my eyes from tracing her for a heartbeat longer than I should have.
When she finally sensed my presence, she startled as if I were a ghost.
"Wh—what the hell?!" she gasped, shielding her eyes with trembling fingers.
I arched a brow, utterly unamused. Rolling my eyes, I let out a low chuckle at her flustered expression.
"What now, revolutionary queen? You can stand in the village square shouting about freedom, but you blush at the sight of your husband's body?"
Her face reddened instantly. "N-no! Don't you know manners?!" she stammered, voice caught between outrage and embarrassment.
"Manners?" I echoed darkly, stepping closer, my shadow falling over her. "I know them well. I know the rules too—better than you, Linda. But tell me…" I leaned in, voice dropping to a cold whisper. "Since when did walking into my own room wearing a towel become a crime?"
Her hands slowly fell from her face, anger sparking in her eyes despite the blush that lingered on her cheeks. For a moment, she looked small, cornered—but then that spark ignited into fire.
"Since when did being a wife mean I should lower my eyes and worship a man just because he survived a few battles?" she shot back, her voice steady now, sharper than I'd expected. "You think scars make you powerful? Discipline, maybe. But respect? That's something you'll never get by forcing me into chains."
Her words cut through me, sharper than a blade. For a moment, I just stood there, seething, feeling the burn of her defiance crawl under my skin. Then, before she could blink, I closed the space between us and slammed my palm against the wall beside her head, pinning her in place.
She gasped, her back pressing into the wooden wall, the tension so thick it could choke us both. My body hovered dangerously close, the heat of the shower still clinging to my skin, droplets sliding down my chest. Her wide eyes flickered between fear and… something else.
For a fleeting heartbeat, the air shifted. The closeness, the intensity—it felt almost intimate, as if my anger had tangled with something far more dangerous. Her breath hitched, and I could see the way her gaze betrayed her, lingering where it shouldn't.
But just as quickly, she blinked, her composure snapping back into place. Her chin lifted, and her lips curved into a defiant smirk.
"You can pin me against every wall in this house, Daniel," she whispered, her voice steady, razor-sharp. "But you'll never pin down my spirit."
The words struck like lightning, and the silence that followed was louder than any scream.
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♡LINDA AND DANIEL♡