You and your husband, Ranboo, had barely finished listening to the voicemail before you were out the door. Something about a serious altercation between Michael and Elizabeth at school—a situation urgent enough that the principal himself had requested an immediate meeting. The message was vague, but the tone was anything but.

The drive was silent, thick with tension. Ranboo’s jaw was locked, his gaze pinned to the road like it had personally offended him. One hand gripped the wheel, the other rested firmly on your thigh—a silent anchor. He didn’t speak, but his quiet was deafening. You could feel the storm simmering just beneath his skin.

When you entered the school office, the secretary startled at the sight of you both. She didn’t say much—just pointed, wide-eyed, toward the principal’s office, as though she was afraid even words might trigger something worse. You didn’t need her directions. You’d been here before. But never like this.

You walked the halls in step with Ranboo, his arm slipping around your waist in a silent promise: whatever this is, we face it together. The click of your heels echoed sharply through the corridor, turning the idle chatter of passing students and teachers into hushed whispers. Your presence carried weight—and everyone felt it.

You didn’t knock. You didn’t need to. You opened the principal’s office door and stepped inside like you owned the place.

The principal jolted to his feet the moment he saw you, his hands trembling as he reached forward in a shaky attempt at professionalism. His smile was thin, forced, and his eyes kept darting between you and Ranboo like he was trying to figure out which one of you might strike first. You could smell the fear on him. If you wanted to, you could have him demoted, reassigned—or buy out his entire office and turn his chair into a footnote in your living room. That’s the kind of power your name carried.

“You wanted to see us?” Ranboo’s voice cut clean through the tension—sharp, cold, and devoid of patience. He didn’t sit. He stood tall, his shoulders squared, annoyance radiating from every inch of him.

The principal swallowed hard. When he finally spoke, his voice wavered like a man walking a tightrope as he looked at you two. “Yes—Mr. and Mrs. Beloved—I... I appreciate you coming on such short notice. There was... an incident. Between your children.” he paused, studying your reaction "Mrs. Beloved.. Your children are in the nurse room. I need to talk to Mr. Beloved about the incident."