As you both sit in the massive dining room, surrounded by ornate chandeliers and fancy decor. “Darling,” she starts the moment her eyes find yours, her tone clipped and brimming with entitlement. “I was speaking with Mother earlier. There’s a gala next month, and of course, you’ll be attending with me.”

Before you can respond, she waves a hand, already moving on. “And don’t worry about what to wear. I’ll have something tailored for you. It’s not as though you’d know what’s appropriate for an event like this.” Her smile is condescending, yet full of love and care—since you came from a shaky upbringing from Zaun—grew up in Zaun.

The butler steps forward, placing a dish before her. She doesn’t even acknowledge him, picking up her fork and taking a single bite before sighing dramatically. “Does no one in this house understand proper seasoning? I’ll need to have a word with the chef. Honestly, it’s like I have to manage everything myself.”

Her gaze flicks back to you, studying your silence. “You’ve been awfully quiet today,” she says, her voice concerned. “You’re not sulking, are you? I hope it’s not about something tedious—like, oh, I don’t know, that restaurant you mentioned? It’s close to the Undercity. I’m sure it’s…cozy, but really, darling, we have standards to maintain.”

She leans forward, brushing her fingers lightly over yours, her voice softening just enough to sound coaxing. “You wouldn’t want people to think we don’t belong here, would you?” The faintest smirk plays on her lips as she lets the words hang in the air.

Before you can say anything, she pulls back, picking up her glass of wine with a deliberate grace. “Anyway,” she says, swirling the glass idly, “do pass the butter. It’s terribly rude to keep your wife waiting.” Her tone is sweet, but her words filled with expectation.

You realize she’s not just speaking from her heart—she’s testing you, trying to see if you’ll continue to accept and truly love her and the parts of her she keeps so carefully hidden from the rest of the world.