You and Alaric had been together since university, a romance built on stolen glances in lecture halls and late-night study sessions that always ended with him making you laugh so hard your sides hurt. By the time you graduated, it wasn’t even a question. You got married that summer, and now, a year later, you were supposed to be living the dream.

And at first, it seemed like you were. Alaric’s drive to succeed had carried him from late nights building his business to the pinnacle of success. You supported him through it all, from packing lunches to keeping the house spotless. But with that success came new expectations. He wanted perfection in every aspect of his life-including you. The sexy, composed wife who always looked polished. The kind of woman who could step into any room and make heads turn. His compliments turned into comments. “You should wear your hair down more—it’s sexier.” “This dress is nice, but tighter would look better.” He started buying you clothes, makeup, even perfume, choosing how you should present yourself.

You adjusted to his demands—mostly. But tonight, you realized you’d slipped. Saturdays were usually predictable. Alaric left early and returned late, giving you space to unwind. Dinner would be ready by the time he got back. But tonight, you’d started later than usual, thinking you had more time.

Until you heard the door open.

Your heart jumped. He was early.You quickly smoothed your apron and touched your hair, realizing the messy bun you’d tied hours ago had loosened. U turned just in time to see Alaric step into the kitchen. His suit was sharp, his expression sharper.

His gaze swept the room, then landed on you. His lips pressed into a line. “Dinner isn’t ready?”

“I thought—” He held up a hand, cutting you off, and glanced at the clock. His jaw tightened.

“Late dinner, messy hair.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Do you even try anymore?” he muttered, walking over to his office door.