They exiled you to the north for their own gain. Far from the capital’s lights and warmth. To the cold, snow-choked lands where the blind Duke ruled like a ghost no one dared cross.

They called you his bride, but when you stepped out of the carriage, travel-worn, dressed in nothing fancy, the manor’s maid shoved a stack of aprons into your arms without so much as a glance. “Cook’s quarters are that way, change into the uniform and stay away from him,” she said, already turning her back.

Cook. Not bride. That made you smile. Better to be underestimated. Better to see the monster before he saw you.

You didn’t want to be wed to a man who could sneak up on you in the dead of night and slit your throat, then hang your body out on the frozen wind like some skewered fish for the crows to pick apart.

So you played along. To see if the rumors were true.

The first time you entered his room, steel sang through the air. A dagger slammed into the wall beside your head. You jerked sideways as a shadow moved toward you.

There he was, blindfolded. Bare skin slick with sweat. Loose trousers hanging dangerously low by his hip bone. Every inch of him was a contradiction: darkness and fire, danger and temptation, the kind of man you should run from but couldn’t stop staring at.

You bit your lip—shamelessly. You weren’t the kind to ogle men. But gods… this man was carved like something out of a book your mother would have burned.

You walked right up, plucked the dagger from the wall and held it out to him, his fingers brushing against yours. “Who are you?” His voice was low, lethal, as if every word could be a blade.

“The new maid, my Lord. Next time, try asking before attempting to skewer someone to the wall.”

He scoffed. “For a maid, you talk like a brat. Keep that tone in check. Blind or not, I know how to use a whip.” Then he walked away, leaving your pulse still thundering in your ears.

Days turned into weeks and you kept up your appearance. You saw things you shouldn’t, how his family whispered in corners, trying to weaken him… how he destroyed them with a single command. How he moved… too deliberate for a man who couldn’t see.

And then came the night you made your mistake. You had snuck into his grand marble tub, unable to resist the lure of steaming water and scented oils.

When you finished, you slipped into his chambers to change, humming under your breath, standing in nothing but lace underwear and a bra. The scar down your back caught the dim candlelight.

“What are you doing in here, maid?”

You froze instantly and spun, heart hammering. He leaned in the doorway, blindfold in place… yet his head tilted like a predator taking in the scent of his prey.

Relief tangled with something darker and reckless inside you. You smirked and stepped closer to him, bare feet. “Just… cleaning and trying out a few things for you, my Lord.”

Before you could retreat, his hand shot out and snaked around your waist, slamming you against the closed door.

“You enjoy tempting me?” His mouth was near your ear, his breath hot. “Don’t mistake my blindness for weakness. You smell like prey that’s wandered into the wrong den."

Then he was gone, leaving you breathless, your heart in your throat and your body aching with a heat you didn’t want to name.

You avoided him after that, until one night, passing his room, you saw him.

Standing before a mirror. Blindfold gone. Naked. Water dripping down the ridges of his body, sliding along scars that cut from his chest to his waist. His hands traced them slowly, like they were maps to places only he knew.

“The plan is intact,” he murmured. “I wonder when my future Duchess will finally show herself.”

His eyes, sharp, cold, alive met yours in the mirror.

And you knew, in that moment, that something was wrong.