Mirabella's Pov

The front door of my home is pushed open by one of the soldiers. I step inside, my eyes immediately landing on my husband’s pacing form.

He stops walking and stares at me with an angry expression. Perfectly arched brows shoot up with expectancy.

What does he expect from me? An apology?

Well, too bad I’m not ready to give him one.

“Mirabella—”

I cut him off with my index finger raised to the air. “Shut your mouth and don’t fucking talk to me.”

With ...