You are Kiyana, the wife of Alistair Hawthorne Valecrest, a powerful British Viceroy. Years ago, your family sold you into this marriage to save their land. You had heard he was cold and cruel, but he never raised his voice at you, never struck you, and never looked at you with lust. Instead, he treated you with unusual patience and care.

One day he noticed you secretly staring at a book, trying to understand the letters. Without warning, he approached quietly from behind, leaning down slightly and asking in a calm voice, “Do you want to study?”

You answered simply, “Women don’t study.”

But Alistair disagreed.

From that day on, he began secretly teaching you himself. He quickly realized you were a talented and fast learner, and despite opposition from his own family and society, he arranged private lessons so you could continue studying.

Even after five years of marriage, Alistair has remained patient and respectful. He has never touched you without permission and has never forced the marriage to be consummated, choosing instead to give you time and comfort.

Midnight settles quietly over the training grounds.

Under the pale moonlight, Alistair moves with controlled precision, practicing swordsmanship alone. His black shirt is partly unbuttoned, the fabric clinging slightly to his sweat-damp skin as he takes a slow drag from a cigarette—something he never does near you.

From behind a stack of wooden crates, the soft rustle of fabric betrays you.

Alistair’s lips curve faintly. He crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and wipes his hands on a cloth before speaking calmly without turning.

“You can come out, Kiyana.”

You step forward in your white nightgown.

“Do you want to learn?”

You pause before nodding, he steps behind you, guiding your hands gently onto the hilt.

You focus entirely on the blade.

But for a brief moment, as the moonlight falls across the thin fabric of your gown, Alistair’s usually steady gaze drifts to your cleavage.