"You won't be coming to the estate for a while," Alaric said, not looking up from the papers scattered across his desk.
Evelyne froze in the doorway of his study. "What did you say?"
The words hit her like a slap. She'd been expecting their usual evening routine. The private dinner in his chambers, the wine, the hours spent in his bed while Seraphina slept alone down the hall. It was Tuesday. They always spent Tuesdays together.
"I'll visit your place when I can, but I need to focus on some estate matters here." His tone was casual, like he was discussing the weather. Like he was dismissing a servant instead of the woman who'd been sharing his bed for months.
"What kind of matters?" She stepped closer, confusion creeping into her voice. Her silk slippers made no sound on the marble floor. "This isn't like you."
This wasn't like him at all. Alaric was a creature of habit. Rigid schedules, predictable patterns. He never changed their arrangement without warning. Never dismissed her so casually.
Alaric finally looked up, his expression neutral. Polite. The same face he wore for minor nobles and petitioning merchants. "Business. Tedious stuff that requires my full attention."
Evelyne's eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. The papers on his desk looked normal enough. Financial reports, trade agreements, correspondence with other houses. Nothing that couldn't wait until morning.
Unless.
Unless this was about her.
She let her magic slip out, just a whisper of charm to ease his mood, make him more agreeable. The kind of subtle influence she'd used on countless others. A gentle push toward warmth, toward wanting to please her.
Nothing happened.
The magic slid off him like water off glass. Not absorbed, not fought against. Simply... ineffective.
Her breath caught. That's not possible. Her charm had never failed before. Never. Even the strongest-willed nobles eventually bent to her influence if she was careful enough.
"Alaric, I don't understand why, "
"Because I said so." His voice carried an edge now. Cold. Final. "That's all the explanation you need."
She stared at him, trying the charm again. Pushing harder this time, weaving suggestion into her words like silk threads. "Surely we can discuss this? I'd hate for you to be overwhelmed with work when I could help you relax..."
The magic reached out, seeking purchase in his mind. Looking for the familiar soft spots where doubt lived, where desire made people vulnerable.
Again, nothing. The magic found no purchase, no crack to slip through. It bounced off something solid, something that felt old and purposeful.
He was protected. Had always been protected.
The realization hit her like cold water. Every time she'd thought she was influencing him, every moment she'd believed her powers gave her an edge, every smug satisfaction when he'd agreed to something she wanted... he'd been letting her think that.
How long had he known? How long had he been watching her try to manipulate him, letting her believe it was working?
The humiliation burned in her chest. All those times she'd thought she was so clever, so subtle. All those moments she'd congratulated herself on being indispensable.
He'd been playing with her.
"Of course," she said, forcing her voice to stay steady. Her hands wanted to shake. Her magic wanted to lash out, to try again, to find some way through his defenses. "I understand completely."
But she didn't. And they both knew it.
She understood nothing. Not why this was happening now. Not why he was cutting her off so abruptly. Not what had changed in the past few days to make him want distance.
"Good." Alaric returned to his papers, already dismissing her. His attention slid away like she'd stopped existing. "I'll send word when things settle down."
When things settle down. As if she was a business matter to be handled later. As if months of shared intimacy meant nothing more than a temporary inconvenience.
Evelyne left his study with her spine straight and her hands steady. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her break. Wouldn't let him see how much this casual dismissal cut.
But inside, everything was crumbling. She wasn't as in control as she'd thought.
Not even close.
The walk back to her chambers felt endless. Every step echoed in the empty corridors, reminding her how alone she was. How easily discarded.
What had changed? What had shifted in Alaric's mind to make him pull away so suddenly? Just last week, he'd been attentive, passionate, promising her things would be different once his marriage became more... manageable.
His marriage.
Seraphina.
A cold understanding began to settle in her stomach. The timing wasn't coincidental. Alaric had been different lately, distracted. More interested in his wife's activities, more present at the estate.
The little mouse had finally learned to squeak.
And apparently, Alaric found it interesting.
Two weeks later, Seraphina sat in the morning sunlight and wondered how everything had gone so wrong.
Her plan had worked. Better than she'd dared hope.
The charitable work was approved. She'd finally gotten permission to visit orphanages, sponsor art exhibitions, organize relief efforts. Real freedom to move around the city, meet with people, build the network she needed.
She could finally start moving according to her plan.
Alaric trusted her now. Completely. The suspicion that used to live in his eyes when he looked at her had been replaced by something else entirely.
The problem was what else he felt.
It had started small the first few days. Lingering looks across the breakfast table, like he was seeing her for the first time. Questions about her plans that seemed genuinely interested rather than suspicious. His hand brushing hers when he passed her something, contact that lasted a beat too long.
She'd thought it was good. Thought it meant her performance was working.
God, she'd been so stupid.
By the end of the first week, he was staying home more. Asking about her charitable ideas with fascination rather than wariness. Sitting closer during their conversations, close enough that she could smell his cologne, could feel the heat from his body.
"You've become so confident," he'd said one evening, his eyes following her as she moved around their sitting room. "I find it... captivating."
She'd smiled and thanked him, playing the grateful wife while her skin crawled. Captivating. Like she was a creature in a menagerie he'd suddenly noticed.
The second week was worse.
The touches became more frequent. His hand on her back when he passed behind her chair, fingers lingering longer than necessary. Fingers trailing along her arm when they spoke, tracing patterns on her skin like he was claiming territory. Kisses that lingered until she had to fight not to pull away, not to wipe her mouth afterward.
"Good morning, my love," he'd say now, with a deep kiss that tasted of possession, and the way he looked at her made her stomach turn. Not with the cold indifference she was used to, but with hunger.
She'd created a monster.
The worst part was how pleased he seemed with himself. How satisfied he looked every time she responded the way he wanted. Like he thought he was responsible for her transformation, like he'd awakened something beautiful instead of terrifying.
If only he knew what he'd really awakened.
The morning sun felt too warm on her skin. Everything felt too much lately. Too bright, too close, too dangerous. She'd wanted his trust, but she'd gotten his attention instead. And Alaric's attention was a dangerous thing to have.
She could imagine him moving around in his chambers, preparing for the day. Soon he'd come looking for her, expecting breakfast together, expecting her smiles and grateful touches.
The performance had to continue.
But every day it got harder. Every touch made her skin crawl more. Every kiss felt like a violation. Every smile she forced felt like it was cracking her face.
How long could she keep this up?
"You seem distracted, my love," Alaric said, settling into the chair beside her.
There it was. The endearment that used to mean nothing, now delivered with the weight of ownership. The way he said "my love" made it sound like "my property."
"Just thinking about today's plans." She poured his tea, letting her fingers brush his as she handed him the cup. The contact made her want to vomit, but she smiled like it pleased her. Like his touch was the highlight of her morning.
"About that," he said, his voice taking on a tone she'd learned to dread. The same tone he used when he'd made a decision and expected compliance. "I think we should celebrate."
"Celebrate?" Please let this be something simple. Please let this be a dinner or a small gathering.
"Your progress. The charitable work approvals came through beautifully. The plans for the art exhibition are impressive. The orphanage board was delighted with your proposals..." He paused, studying her face like he was memorizing it. "It's been transformative to watch."
Transformative. Right. Like she was a caterpillar that had finally become a butterfly. Like her previous self had been incomplete, lacking, wrong.
She kept her expression interested, engaged. "I'm so glad you approve."
"More than approve. I'm impressed." His hand covered hers on the table, warm and possessive. "I never realized what I was missing. How captivating my wife could be when she applied herself."
The words made her skin crawl, but she looked down modestly. Applied herself. Like being a good wife was a job she'd been failing at until now.
"Then you should commend yourself. You helped me find my confidence."
You helped me learn to lie to you, she thought. You helped me discover exactly how far I'll go to get what I need.
"Did I?" His thumb traced across her knuckles, slow and deliberate. He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles so seductively that her skin crawled. The kiss lingered, wet and warm, like a promise. "Then I think that deserves a proper celebration. Don't you?"
There was something in his tone that made her stomach drop. Not a question. A statement.
She'd heard that tone before. When he'd decided to marry her. When he'd chosen their wedding date. When he'd dismissed servants who displeased him. It was the voice of a man who'd already made up his mind and was simply informing everyone else of his decision.
"That sounds lovely, my dear," she said, because that's what the performance required. Please let this just be a dinner. Please let this just be another evening of forced smiles and careful conversation.
"Excellent." His smile was satisfied, possessive. The smile of a man who'd gotten exactly what he wanted. "Cancel whatever you had planned for today."
Her heart stopped. "Cancel?"
Everything. He wanted her to cancel everything. The meeting with the orphanage board. The appointment with the art exhibition curator. The carefully planned afternoon she'd been looking forward to, the first real taste of the freedom she'd fought so hard to achieve.
"I want to spend the day with you. Plan our celebration properly." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to something intimate and threatening. "Just the two of us."
She stared at him, the full scope of her mistake finally becoming clear.
He looked at her like he owned her. Just like the day they lit the pyre.
She'd wanted his trust. His permission to move freely.
Instead, she'd caught his attention. His interest. His growing obsession with the woman he thought he'd helped create.
And now there was no escape.
The charitable work permissions were useless if he never let her out of his sight. The network she'd planned to build would remain a fantasy if he insisted on monopolizing her time. Everything she'd worked for, everything she'd endured, would be meaningless if he decided she was too precious to share with the world.
She'd traded one cage for another.
But this cage came with a jailer who thought he loved her.
Don't freeze. Don't flinch. Don't show it. Just smile. Just say it. Just lie.
"Of course," she heard herself say. "I'd love that."
But inside, she was screaming.
The sun was still shining through the windows. The same damn sunlight. The tea was still warm in her cup. But it wasn't the same. She wasn't the same.
But everything had changed.
Everything.