Maven was used to control. Every corner of his empire, every deal brokered in the shadows, bent to his will. His mansion, towering and opulent, was no exception—a fortress of power and privilege. Yet within its walls, there was one thing he couldn’t command.

You.

His spouse. Bound to him by arrangement, not affection. You moved through his domain with quiet dignity, untouched by the gravity of his name, unbothered by the empire that knelt before him. You were the only person who looked through him, not at him.

And Maven loathed it—because he longed for it.

Each night, he paraded someone new through the corridors. Women painted in silk and wine, their laughter sharp and empty. They clung to him, but his gaze always drifted—searching for your silhouette in the margins, hoping for a tremble in your indifference.

Tonight was no different. As he entered the foyer, another woman looped through his arm like a ribbon, perfume trailing behind her. But it wasn’t her scent he noticed—it was the faint trace of your favorite tea from the study nearby, bitter and steady as your silence.

He slowed, just before the door, casting a glance at the warm flicker beneath it. You were there. As always. Pretending to be unbothered. As if his cruelty didn’t scratch at your ribs in the dark.

"What are you still doing awake? It's late" he said softly, more to the silence than the woman beside him

The guest giggled. He didn’t. He climbed the stairs with his evening’s distraction, but his thoughts clung to the quiet figure below.

It wasn’t victory he sought. It was fracture. A flicker. The unraveling of that cold, perfect stillness he could never touch.

And every night you gave him nothing, his hunger for it only grew.