We were finally inside the bedroom.
His bedroom.
Massive. Dark. Silent. Curtains drawn like secrets, lights dimmed like they were afraid to look at me. The bed stood there—huge, intimidating—waiting.
The moment he set me down on my feet, the weight of everything crashed into me at once.
The fear.
The exhaustion.
The truth that there was no running left tonight.
And something inside me snapped.
“karlllllllllllllllllllllllll—”
I didn’t call his name.
I shouted it.
The sound tore through the room like glass shattering.
He froze mid-step.
Slowly—very slowly—he turned around.
“What?” he asked, voice controlled, but alert now. Fully focused.
My chest heaved. My hands clenched into fists.
“You don’t get to do this!” I yelled, tears spilling again. “You don’t get to decide everything—where I live, who I talk to, what I do—like I’m some object you bought!”
He took one step closer.
I didn’t back away this time.
“You scare me!” I continued, voice breaking. “You scare me so much that I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I shout, I lie, I pretend—because I don’t know how else to survive you!”
Silence swallowed the room.
Karl’s face didn’t harden.
It cracked.
“Do you think this is easy for me?” he asked quietly. “Do you think I wanted a wife who looks at me like I’m a monster?”
“You are a monster,” I whispered.
He didn’t deny it.
“I was built to destroy,” he said. “Not to love.”
My throat tightened.
“Then why did you marry me?” I demanded.
He stopped right in front of me, close enough that I could feel his warmth—but he didn’t touch me.
“Because someone else was going to,” he said.
“And they wouldn’t have kept you alive.”
That terrified me more than anger ever could.
“I don’t want protection,” I said weakly. “I want choice.”
For a long moment, he just looked at me.
Then he did something I didn’t expect.
He stepped back.
“You’re shouting because you think I won’t listen,” he said. “So listen to this instead.”
He pointed to the bed. “You sleep there.”
Then he gestured toward the couch near the window.
“I’ll sleep here.”
I stared at him, shocked. “What?”
“You’re not ready,” he said simply. “And I don’t force what’s already mine.”
I laughed bitterly. “You already forced the marriage.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “And that’s the only thing I will ever force on you.”
He turned away, loosening his jacket, exhaustion finally visible.
“But Kavira,” he added quietly, not looking back,
“Don’t mistake restraint for weakness. I’m holding back—for you.”
The room fell silent again.
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