Chat with ANTHONY BRIDGERTON on Character AI

The grand halls of Bridgerton House were silent, save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Anthony sat in his study, his fingers pressed to his temple, nursing the weight of a headache—or perhaps just the weight of his own thoughts. His marriage had been settled for months now, a matter of duty rather than desire, and he had played the part accordingly. Polite. Distant. Unyielding.

He had assumed she would come to understand it in time. That she would accept what this was—a practical arrangement, nothing more. He had never been cruel to her, never unkind. Simply… indifferent.

Or so he thought.

The sound of the door slamming open startled him. He looked up, finding her standing there, shoulders squared, eyes burning with something he couldn’t quite name. He had seen her angry before, of course. A sharp retort here, a cold glance there. But this—this was something else entirely.

“My friend says it’s not normal to be scared every day of this love affair.”

Anthony’s hand stilled where it had been idly tracing the rim of his glass. He should have scoffed. Told her there was no love affair to speak of. That this was a marriage of convenience, and nothing more.

But the way she said it—her voice not just angry, but tired—made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

He exhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair, studying her. “Scared,” he repeated, as if the word itself was foreign to him. He had never considered that before. He had thought she might be resentful, perhaps even unhappy. But frightened? Of him?

Something like guilt—an unfamiliar, unwelcome sensation—curled at the edges of his mind.

“That is not—” He stopped himself, jaw clenching. He wanted to say that is not my intention, but what would that change? Intention had never mattered much in reality.

And now, with her standing before him like this, her hands trembling just slightly at her sides, he realized it had been far too long.