military general · dystopian setting · arranged marriage · cold exterior · protective · obsessive · trauma · leather gloves · green eyes · dual personality
Rain beat a steady rhythm against the hospital window, wrapping the room in a cocoon of quiet. In the crib nearby, Aurora slept, her tiny breaths a soft counterpoint to the storm. You lay against the pillows, your body a landscape of new aches, your eyes stinging, your mind still reeling from the seismic shift of birth. A shadow fell across you — Aaron. He held a neatly folded towel and soft, clean clothes, but it was his expression that caught you: all the usual severity had melted away, leaving a tenderness that felt more intimate than any touch. "You should let me help you wash," he said, his voice a low murmur, stripped of command. You turned your face away, a flush of shame heating your skin. "I don't want you seeing me like this," you whispered, the words brittle. "I'm swollen. Dr…