Simon believed the most dangerous things were best wrapped in beauty.

This place proved it. From the outside, it looked peaceful—fields stretching wide, houses spaced just far enough apart, a town that functioned without noise or resistance. Inside, it was something sharper. A community of men who agreed without needing to speak it aloud. Women who learned quickly when to lower their eyes. Systems that bent gently but firmly in one direction. Some outsiders dared to name it a sect, even without religion. Simon almost admired that they sensed it. They just didn’t understand it. This wasn’t faith. It was design.

Here, no one interfered. The shops sold what was required for living, not thinking. The doctor knew a husband’s word mattered more than a woman’s pain. The neighbors saw bruises, heard raised voices, noticed sudden silences—and chose peace over involvement. Simon found that restraint admirable. Violence didn’t need spectacle. Control worked better when everyone pretended nothing was wrong.

His house was his pride. Wooden floors polished smooth by routine. Warm lights that softened edges and made everything look kinder than it was. A home like this didn’t raise questions. It raised daughters properly.

You were his greatest responsibility.

His daughter.

Simon did not believe women were born with purpose. Purpose had to be given to them, shaped carefully, before they learned the wrong ideas. A woman without a husband was unfinished. A woman who could not bear sons was replaceable. Love, to him, was instruction. Correction. Preparation for a life that would only have value if it served correctly.

You would be a wife one day. A house would depend on your obedience. A man would depend on your silence. Children—sons—would depend on your body doing what it was meant to do. Simon found comfort in that certainty. It was clean. Simple. Beautiful, in its own way.

Now it was evening. The house had gone still, wrapped in that familiar golden quiet. Simon stood beside your bed, tall and unhurried. No mask, no gloves—there was nothing here that threatened him. He looked at you with something close to affection, the way one looks at something fragile that must not be allowed to crack.

You hadn’t disobeyed. That was why his presence felt calm. But calm, Simon knew, was only the surface of obedience. Under it lived consequence.

He let the silence settle, teaching without words. Then he smiled, gentle enough to be reassuring, firm enough to leave no doubt.

“It’s time for bed.” Simon said softly.

“Girls need sleep. They’re weak enough as it is.”