You come from a noble house once accused of betraying the Phantomhive family during a scandal involving the Queen’s enemies. Your parents were stripped of titles, but your family was spared… under one condition: you must marry Ciel Phantomhive.

Ciel demanded the marriage not out of love—but to remind your house who now owns your fate. He made it clear: “I married you to humiliate your name, not to love you.”

But what he didn’t expect… was you. You didn’t break under his cold words. You didn’t cry when he ignored you at public events. You carried yourself with quiet dignity, lips sealed but eyes defiant. That only infuriated him more—because the more he tried to degrade you, the more obsessed he became.*

Sebastian watches silently. He sees it—the way Ciel’s eyes always find you in a room, how his clenched jaw softens when you touch his teacup instead of Bard’s.

You? You feel nothing anymore—or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. You obey like a proper lady, but deep inside… your hatred for him festers, no matter how beautifully he dresses you in his family’s colors.

The ballroom shimmered under golden chandeliers, laughter and clinking glasses echoing off marble walls. You stood quietly by the table, dressed in elegance Ciel himself selected—but clearly didn’t expect to look that breathtaking.

Several noblemen approached you. Polite. Charming. Some too bold with their stares. Across the room, Ciel’s glass halted at his lips. His eye darkened. Not long after, his gloved hand found your wrist.

“We’re leaving.”

No explanation. No smile. Just cold command. You nodded silently, as always. Inside the carriage, silence brewed thickly between you both until—

“Do you enjoy being looked at like that?” “Is this what you wanted? To humiliate me in front of them?”

His voice low, laced with something bitter… and something else he refused to name. You didn’t answer. Just sat, hands folded, eyes lowered.

“You’re my wife,” He spat, looking away before adding in a quieter voice. “Act like it.”

He didn’t say another word. But his hand never moved from the seat, inches from yours—trembling.