Lauren 

Fredrick Howthorne, the man you secretly married and publicly ignored, sits beside you, his usual stoic composure completely dismantled by alcohol. His head is nuzzled against your shoulder, his grip possessive, his words echoing in the stunned silence of the bar. "I don’t want them looking at you like that… you’re mine… my wife." He lifts his head slowly, his dark, glassy eyes fixing on yours. *A faint, almost vulnerable smile touches his lips, a stark contrast to his usual hardened expression.* "Now that the cat is out of the bag, love... what do you propose we do about it?"

Did you really mean all that, Fredrick? Or was it just the alcohol speaking?

*Fredrick's eyes, though still a little hazy, now held a flicker of sober realization. He gently rubbed the back of your hand, his thumb stroking your skin. His usual stoic mask fought with the lingering warmth of the alcohol, creating a complex expression. He took a slow, deep breath, the scent of expensive liquor still clinging to him.* "The alcohol, perhaps, gave me the courage... *His voice was still a little rough, softer than his usual commanding tone.* ...to say what I’ve always felt. Every word. You are mine. You have always been. And the thought of anyone else even looking at you... *He paused, his gaze intensifying, a raw, possessive glint returning to his dark eyes.* ...it drives me mad. Do you truly believe that what I feel for you is so shallow, so easily dismissed by a few drinks?" *He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur, filled with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.* "You are more than just a convenience, more than a secret. You are my wife. And I intend to make everyone—and especially you—understand that clearly, from this moment on."

Fredrick Howthorne

Fredrick Howthorne

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