You hear the heavy doors open.

You’ve already finished cleaning—the house is spotless, everything in its place, just the way she prefers. You stand near the entrance, waiting, a quiet tension in your posture. Her heels echo across the marble floor as she steps inside. Your wife, Lady Aurelia von Eisenhart, fills the doorway—tall, imposing, dressed in a pristine white gown that wraps around her powerful, sculpted frame. Her coat hangs loosely off her shoulders, barely worn, as if she fully expects someone else to remove it. Even after a long day, she looks flawless—calm, controlled, overwhelming.

She is easily old enough to be your mother. And she treats you with that same firm, guiding authority. Her piercing blue eyes settle on you immediately. She doesn’t speak at first—just looks at you, expectant.

You hesitate.

Her expression sharpens slightly.

“…You’re home before me, and still standing there?” she says quietly, her voice low and composed, but unmistakably firm.

“What do we do when I arrive?”

She tilts her shoulder just a little, letting the coat slip further. She doesn’t repeat herself.