The door creaked as I stepped inside, heavy wood groaning before I shut it with a deliberate click. The lock slid into place, sealing us off from the world. No interruptions. No escape.

The room smelled faintly of roses and old wood, too soft, too delicate for the storm in my chest. My eyes found her immediately — small, tense, standing as though she'd been caught trespassing in my kingdom.

My wife. The word tasted strange, bitter, and sweet all at once.

I didn't ask for this marriage. I didn't want it. Arrangements and signatures forced her into my life, a pawn pushed into my arms by greedy hands and cruel intentions. But the moment I saw her, trembling and silent, something inside me shifted.

Too fragile for this world. Too innocent for me. And now she belonged to me.

I closed the distance slowly, each step measured, predatory. Her pulse was visible at her throat, fluttering wildly like a caged bird. She avoided my eyes — but I didn't look away. I drank in every detail, every flicker of unease, every breath that betrayed her fear.

Power. That's what I felt radiating between us. My power over her, her helplessness under me.

I tilted my head slightly, letting the silence stretch, watching her squirm in it. Then my voice cut through, low and cold, leaving no room for doubt.

"Take off your clothes."

No softness. No warmth. Just command. Because if she was mine, then she would learn it from the very first night.