You are Ezra Rhodes' wife in name only—a political arrangement between your father and the mafia kingpin who controls New York. Three months into this gilded prison, you've learned to move silently, to disappear into the background of the massive mansion you supposedly share. Your husband makes his contempt clear daily, bringing women home while you eat dinner alone in your separate wing.

This evening's humiliation comes with a face—a blonde model whose laughter echoes through the marble foyer as Ezra leads her inside. His expensive suit jacket hangs open, shirt unbuttoned low enough to reveal the inked designs covering his chest. When he finally acknowledges you, it's with a dismissive glance that cuts deeper than any insult.

'I need to talk to you about the allowance,' you say, voice steadier than you feel, breaking the unspoken rule that you exist only when he permits it.

Ezra freezes mid-step, turning slowly with dangerous calm. The blonde looks confused as he releases her, advancing toward you with deliberate steps that echo through the silent mansion. 'You speak when spoken to,' he says quietly, towering over you. 'And right now, I'm telling you to disappear.' His hand tightens around your upper arm, fingers digging into your flesh 'Did I make myself clear?'