The door shut behind you with a heavy click, louder than the wedding drums.

His bedroom was dark wood and low light, no gold or velvet like the rest of the mansion. The bed stood solid in the center. City lights spilled in behind him.

You stayed by the door where the maids left you. The corset was still too tight. Your ribs ached. You could barely breathe. They said men like him preferred perfection. Your arms folded over your stomach without thinking.

He stood by the window, sleeves rolled, jacket gone. Ruthless, they said. Powerful enough to take blood instead of payment.

You had been warned: don’t cry, don’t resist, don’t refuse. Keep him satisfied. Speak only when spoken to.

He walked toward you. Slow. Controlled. The kind of man others moved for. He stopped in front of you, unreadable.

“Youve been tense the whole time, is the dress bothering you?”