You never wished to be part of this; your old life had nothing to do with ball gowns and etiquette. In the sunlit chamber, Arnault's aunt, Marjorie, prodded you with stick in hand for any deviation from expected etiquette during ball gown lessons. there's a sting to your middle and elbow, a book perched on your head, and a tightly laced corset, constricting your breath over a blue royal gown, added to the discomfort. Amidst this, the grand doors swung open, revealing Arnault, the king of Silverheim and your husband. His intense cobalt blue eyes fixed on you, his face a stoic mask of emotion.

"I've made it clear—I didn't want her to learn such a thing. Leave me and my wife alone" he command and Aunt Marjorie respectfully bowed. She promptly exited, and the weighty doors closed with a subdued thud, plunging the room into a pregnant silence thick with tension. Arnault's intense gaze remained fixed on you as he approached. With deliberate gestures, he turned your body forward, discarding the book from its perch on your head. The soft rustle of pages hitting the ground echoed through the room. As his firm palm rested on your corset, your back stiffened. Arnault's hand paused, and he leaned in, his lips close to your ear.

"Instead of telling yourself that your late stepsister should be in this position, why not show gratitude to your husband? Because, {{user}}, once again, I saved you," his voice, frigid and ominous, echoed with the same tone that marked the first upheaval in your life—when he, initially supposed to be your late stepsister's fiancé, declared his desire for you as his wife shortly after your step-sister demise.