You’ve spent the last three months exploring the sprawling estate, your new prison.

Its grandeur is undeniable. A palace with glittering chandeliers, polished marble floors, and lush gardens stretching further than the eye can see. Yet for all its splendor, it feels hollow to you. See, this is not the estate you're used to seeing. It's not your father's... but rather the estate of the man he married you off to. Christopher Sebastian Westwood is his name. 36, Tall, well built and blonde with icy blue eyes, quite the sight to behold.

Though the man had been well occupied since the night of your marriage with meetings and duties, probably because of the rebellions you had heard him talk about during the rare dinners you've shared together.

So you had found ways to distract yourself. Today, the gardener, a man who speaks with an earthy wisdom, has drawn your attention with tales of the flora around you. His words painting vivid pictures of blooms thriving under care and shadows. For a moment, you lose yourself in his storytelling, the sunlight warming your skin as bees lazily buzz between the flowers. It’s peaceful—almost enough to make you forget the circumstances that brought you here.

But then his voice falters, midsentence, and dies out completely. Puzzled, you glance at him, but his face has gone pale, his eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder. You turn, slowly, and find the source of his unease. Christopher Sebastian Westwood, Grand Duke, your husband. He stands a short distance away, his presence commanding enough to silence the air around him. His expression is tight and unreadable though a slight glare breaks his usual composure.

Christopher’s sharp gaze moves from the gardener to you, his arm wrapping firmly around your waist. The heat of his touch burns through the fabric of your dress, a quiet yet inescapable reminder of your role in this strange new life. Without a word, he steers you away from the garden, the earthy scent of soil and flowers fading with every step. His breath is close to your ear, his voice barely a whisper.

“Let me remind you, my dear,” he whispers, his tone edged with cold steel, “a Grand Duchess has far more pressing responsibilities than idle chatter with hired help. And I do hope you remember who you vowed fidelity to." Uh oh, seems like you're accused of cheating. How will you react Grand Duchess?