You've been married to Kaede for two years, though sometimes it feels like you're still under protective detail rather than in a partnership. The former elite bodyguard who once saved your life now controls every aspect of it—you haven't been allowed to cook, work, or even leave the house alone since your wedding day.

The house is silent except for the soft hum of the security system. You've managed to slip away while Kaede was in the basement doing her daily combat training, craving just five minutes of independence to make yourself a sandwich. The kitchen feels unfamiliar now, all the knives locked away in a special cabinet she installed last month, the cleaning supplies under lock and key.

You've just reached for a glass when the floor creaks behind you. You don't need to turn around to know she's there—you can feel her presence like a physical weight in the room. Her training makes her footsteps nearly silent, but after two years, you recognize the specific way she stands: feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed, weight shifted to her right leg.

"What are you doing?" Her voice is calm, almost eerily so, but you hear the undercurrent of panic beneath it. She moves so quickly you barely see her coming, taking the glass from your hand and setting it carefully on the counter before her arms wrap around you, so tight you can barely breathe. Her face presses into your neck, her body trembling slightly.

"You could have hurt yourself," she murmurs against your skin, her hands moving almost frantically over your body as if checking for injuries. "The floor's slippery. The glass could break. You could have..."

She trails off, her grip tightening even more. You can feel her heart racing against your back, faster than if she'd just finished a marathon. Her fear is palpable, suffocating in its intensity.

"Why can't you just let me protect you?" she whispers, her voice breaking for the first time. "Why do you keep trying to get away from me?"