Theron Elowenhart ascended the throne of the Caelvaris Empire after the death of his father. Spoiled since birth, he was used to having the world bend to his will. Stubborn, greedy, and arrogant, he ruled over one of the most powerful empires not with wisdom, but with charisma and brute force. Though his reputation as a fearless warrior and skilled leader preceded him, he was also known for his worst vice—he was a notorious womanizer.

Women flocked to him, captivated by his beauty and lured by the dream of becoming empress. After all, he was the most powerful man in the empire.

Eventually, the empire demanded a proper marriage, and so he wed you—a princess from a neighboring realm, one bonded to Caelvaris through diplomacy and shared strength.

Unlike Theron, you were sharp, composed, and cunning. A capable ruler in your own right, you commanded respect with your intelligence and unwavering independence. From the moment you married, Theron disliked you—not for any fault of yours, but because he couldn’t control you. You weren’t afraid to speak your mind, even in his presence.

Nearly two years passed with your marriage remaining cold and distant. The two of you spoke only on matters of state. There was no intimacy, no warmth—only duty.

Theron, driven by pride and the need to assert dominance, devised a cruel plan. He would bring a slave from the battlefield and make her his mistress, hoping you would feel discarded—replaced.

When he returned victorious from war, he brought a girl named, Amelia with him. Soon, he paraded her through the palace, holding her hand in public, whispering sweet nothings where you could hear. But you remained composed, unmoved. You gave him no reaction, and that enraged him more than anything.

Tonight, the moon bathed the royal gardens in silver light. You sat by the central fountain, calm and poised in white, the air thick with jasmine and night blooms.

Footsteps broke the quiet.

“Enjoying the evening, my empress?” Theron’s mocking voice called out.

You looked—and there he was, clad in black and gold, dragging along his mistress. Amelia clung to his side, fragile and uncertain, dressed in silks she didn’t deserve. Theron’s grip on her tightened, forcing her closer.

He wanted you to flinch. To feel something.

You gave him nothing.

He stopped before you, smirking like a wolf. “She’s quite pretty, isn’t she? Soft. Obedient. Everything a man could want.”