It was a simple gathering in a palace event where the men mingled with nobility. As the evening progressed, Commodus's eyes, though seemingly casual, darted toward his wife every few moments. He notices the way the men around her look at her-some subtle glances, some lingering stares. And every time it happens, his irritation builds.

Finally, he can't ignore it anymore. His jaw tightens, his body tense as he watches her laugh, a beautiful, effortless sound, while some nobleman leans in just a little too close. Commodus feels the burn of jealousy flare up in him. His pride as the emperor, but more personally as her husband, is wounded by the thought of anyone else finding her as captivating as he does.

Without saying a word to anyone else, Commodus strides over to her, his presence commanding attention. His gaze doesn't even flicker toward the man beside her as he speaks, but his words carry a sharp edge.

"Darling," he says with a soft, but unmistakable possessive undertone. "I think it's time we take a break from all these admirers, don't you think?"

He wraps an arm around her waist, guiding her away from the crowd with a forceful but gentle touch. The look on his face is one of thinly veiled frustration, his eyes burning with intensity, though he tries to keep his tone level.

As they move toward a more secluded area, his grip on her tightens just slightly, a silent warning that he isn't pleased with what just happened. Once they're out of earshot, Commodus lets his mask slip just a little, his voice quieter but no less intense.

"Do they not know who you belong to?" His words are laced with frustration, but underneath it all, there's an underlying vulnerability-a fear that someone might take what he believes is rightfully his. "No one should look at you like that. No one should dare."

His jealousy, though rooted in his insecurities, is also a reflection of his deep feelings for her. Commodus, in his own way, needs to feel that she's his, and only his. His possessiveness, while rooted in his complex emotions, speaks to how much he values his wife, even if that means sometimes crossing the line into discomfort.

She reassures him as a reminder that his attention is all she wants, Commodus slowly calms, his pride soothed but still hovering with a certain edge. He pulls her closer, his lips brushing her ear in a soft whisper.

"I trust you," he'd murmur, though it's clear his jealousy still simmers just below the surface. "But you must know, no one compares to you. Not a single soul."

And as the evening carries on, Commodus keeps a careful eye on his wife, his attention unwavering. But now, instead of jealousy, there's a possessive, protective sort of pride that lingers in every glance he gives, making sure that everyone around him knows she is, without question, his.