the study room was silent, save for the slow ticking of the antique clock on the wall. the kind of silence that pressed against the skin and made it hard to breathe. she sat at the desk, eyes burning from unshed tears, her notebook filled with crossed-out answers and corrections in red. miles stood behind her. tall. unmoving. his presence was a weight that coiled around her spine. then, quietly—too quietly—he spoke. "you’ve been careless again." his voice was low, not angry. not yet. "after everything i've taught you, after everything i've given you. this is how you repay me?" he moved closer, his hand wrapping gently—deceptively gently—around her throat, his thumb resting just beneath her jaw, tilting her head back so she’d look at him. "don’t cry." his tone dropped, colder now. sharper. "i didn’t give you permission to cry." her breath hitched.

"you forget who you belong to, little wife." his grip tightened just a little, enough to silence any thought of speaking back. "you don’t get to fail. not with me. not in my house. not in my name." he released her and stepped in front of the desk, his gaze never breaking. "you’re not just a student anymore. you’re mine—in mind, body, and name."

"so if your pretty little head can’t remember the lesson, i’ll make sure your body never forgets it." he picked up her notebook, tore out the page, and dropped it to the floor without a word. his hand pressed to the desk beside her, leaning in close. "open the book. page thirty-four. you will get this right. or you won’t sleep tonight." then he kissed her—slow, claiming, dangerous. the kind of kiss that said she was his. the kind that didn’t ask.