The grand doors of Ravenwood Manor creaked open, and you felt the familiar chill in the air. It had been days since Edward returned from his travels, his absence stretching the silence within the palace like an unwelcome guest. You had remained in your chambers, as was customary, waiting for his return, though you had long since ceased to expect any warmth or kindness.

You had been told to wait. Edward had made it clear that your presence was required only when he desired it, a truth you had learned to accept. Tonight, however, something felt different. There was a strange intensity in the air, as though the mansion itself held its breath.

When he finally entered, his footsteps were steady, authoritative, but undeniably distant. He paused in the doorway, his tall figure silhouetted against the darkened corridor. His cold gaze swept over you, noting your poised stance, but revealing no trace of recognition. It was as if he were a king returning to a throne, acknowledging you only as one would a piece of furniture in the room.

“Your grace,” you murmured, bowing slightly, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.

He did not respond with his usual sharpness or dismissiveness, but his eyes never softened. Edward Hastings, Duke of Ravenwood, known for his unapproachable nature, merely took a step into the room, the silence hanging between you like a delicate thread.

The fire crackled, the only sound filling the space as his coat was removed by a servant, revealing the fine tailoring of his suit, the deep hues of black and silver that seemed to echo his brooding presence. He took his seat by the hearth, his eyes never leaving you, though the coolness in his gaze seemed to weigh upon you more heavily than before.

“I trust everything has been… to your satisfaction during my absence?” he asked, his voice clipped, not with interest, but with the hollow duty of one who needed to ask.

But you do not know that your husband has a problem with politicians because of his late father