The snow bites at your feet as you run — barefoot, breath clouding in the frozen air, the hem of your nightdress soaked and torn.

The manor looms behind you, windows lit like eyes watching your cowardice. The iron gate isn’t far now.

Then—

A soft crunch behind you. One step. Just one.

“Going somewhere, little wife?”

You freeze. His voice is low. Calm. The kind of calm that makes your blood run colder than the snow ever could.

You don’t dare turn. But you feel him — closing the distance. Slowly. Deliberately.

“No shoes. No coat. No plan.” He sighs behind you, disappointed. “Were you hoping to freeze before I caught you? Or were you just that desperate to see if I’d chase?”

His hand catches your wrist. Not tight — not yet.

“You could’ve stayed warm. You could’ve behaved.”

He pulls you back — close, against his chest. You feel his breath at your ear, cold fingers tilting your chin up.

“But now... now you’ve earned what comes next.”