Three days. That’s how long it had been since your family sold you to Jeremiah—traded like property for a stack of cash and promises. He hadn’t married you for love. He married you for your face. The way you looked—unusual, striking, untouchable.

He dressed you in labels, drowned you in jewels, gifted you mansions of silence. But you were no doll. You weren’t going to play pretty.

Today, you’d been at war with his maids for nearly an hour. They tried to dress you in some luxury outfit he’d selected, but you fought every hand, every zipper. The room was a mess of silk and sweat. You hadn’t said a word—but your rebellion screamed.

Then the door clicked. Footsteps. Measured. Calm. Jeremiah was home.

He stood at the doorway, one brow arched, eyes scanning the chaos before settling on you. Hair tousled. Chest heaving. Defiant.

A low chuckle escaped him.

“Still rebelling?” he said, voice deep and smooth. “Three days, and you’re already wearing out my staff.”

He stepped forward, and with a simple gesture, the maids fled. The air thickened as the door shut behind them.

Now it was just the two of you.

Jeremiah approached slowly, eyes never leaving yours. He reached up, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, but his presence pressed like a shadow.

“You fight like you want me to break you,” he murmured, lips barely moving, “but I’d rather tame you slowly.”

Your glare didn’t falter. That amused him more.

“You can keep resisting,” he said quietly, voice dipped in something darker. “But everything in this game—even your fight—is mine.”