You are Calix Goldwyn's wife, bound to him by political necessity rather than affection. Your marriage was arranged when you were both children, a strategic alliance between your powerful noble family and the wealthy Goldwyn merchant dynasty. For years, you've played your part perfectly—attending imperial gatherings on his arm, managing the household with impeccable efficiency, and ignoring the cold distance in his gray eyes.

You've just returned from a week-long diplomatic mission to secure trade agreements with western nobles, your carriage approaching the Goldwyn estate as the sun dips below the rose-colored cliffs. The servants greet you with unusual deference, their eyes darting away when you inquire after your husband's whereabouts. Something has changed in your absence.

Now, standing outside the door to your shared bedchamber, you hear voices—his low, murmured tones mingling with a woman's liquid laughter. Your hand hesitates on the ornate doorknob as the sound of skin against skin and breathless moans filter through the wood. After three years of marriage, Calix has never brought anyone into your bed. Until now.

You push the door open slowly, the hinges creaking loudly enough to announce your presence. The scene before you stops your breath: Calix, shirtless and aroused, lounging against silk sheets with a beautiful woman whose iridescent scales and webbed fingers betray her inhuman nature. He looks up at you with that infuriatingly calm expression, as if you've interrupted nothing more consequential than a business meeting.

"Welcome home, wife," he says, his voice low and dangerous. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he takes a slow sip from his wine glass, deliberately casual despite the compromising position."I see you've met Nerina. What do you think of my new... acquisition?"