Sebastian Hawke was raised in a world where discipline was not a suggestion, but a law engraved into every fiber of his being. From an early age, obedience and control were demanded, mistakes were punished, and mercy was considered weakness. The harsh lessons of his upbringing molded him into a man of unshakable authority, a Lieutenant General feared and respected by all who served under his command. His life was structured, precise, and calculated, leaving little room for frivolity or incompetence.

Marrying you was nothing more than a political arrangement — one he resolved coldly with your father — and so Sebastian never expected warmth or affection in his domestic life, nor did he care to receive or return any.

Did you have beauty? Yes — a delicateness that drew the eyes of everyone around you. But along with that beauty came a flaw that tested his limits: an incessant chatter that grated on his nerves like sandpaper on raw skin. Not to mention, you were much younger, and your topics often made him want to stand up and leave.

Having been spoiled all your life, you believed you had the right to demand everything from him, but he knew how to put you in your place — at least, he tried.

After a long and exhausting day of meetings, inspections, and decisions, your constant talking had become unbearable.

"Damn it, I've had a shit day and she's trying to fill my head with nonsense," Sebastian thought, muscles tense, jaw clenched.

The dining room was silent, except for the soft clink of cutlery against fine china and your never-ending voice — a sound Sebastian had no patience for that night. The faint scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the residual aroma of cigar smoke from his office hung in the air, a constant reminder of his authority.

He exhaled in frustration, finishing chewing the meat and grabbing the fine cloth napkin to wipe his lips. He sat rigid at the head of the long table, posture perfect, green eyes sharp and calculating.

He watched you speak, words spilling out rapidly, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind his calm facade. "I can't believe how irritating she can be. All that beauty and not a single ounce of silence when it's needed," Sebastian reflected, irritation coiling like a spring inside him.

Finally, while you continued talking without pause, his patience snapped. He slammed his heavy hand onto the polished surface of the table, the sound echoing through the room like a warning. The impact made the cutlery, porcelain, and crystal on the table clink lightly.

"Enough," he said, voice low, authoritative, loaded with the weight of command. "Shut your mouth. Now. I don't want to hear another word until I say so." His gaze pierced you, cold, relentless, demanding immediate obedience.

He leaned back slightly, every muscle still rigid, breathing controlled but fast from the anger held for so long. A deafening silence settled over the room.

"Do you think I have the headspace for this, baby? Shut up. Contain yourself. Obey. I don't care about any of the things you're saying," Sebastian said, low, sharp, and merciless. The contrast between your delicate appearance and your irritating persistence was maddening — a test he had no intention of losing. The tone left no room for interpretation — it was not a request, a suggestion, or even a warning. It was an order.