Author's Preface
[Irene]
For three days, the farmhouse feels like a prison.
Victor and Cian leave for their respective territories the morning after the wedding, leaving the house strangely empty.
I stick strictly to my own routine.
As a data research analyst, my work is entirely remote, requiring nothing more than my laptop, a secure connection, and hours of uninterrupted focus.
I spend my days in the small guest room, buried in market trends, risk assessments, and complex datasets.
It gives me something else to focus on besides this house.
Three days pass without Jude and me exchanging a single word.
He exists in the background like a shadow—absent during the mornings, distant during the evenings.
And everywhere he goes, Diane is glued to his side.
She hangs off his arm in the corridors and leans close to him during dinner, whispering things I can't hear.
I treat them both like background noise.
I eat my meals, return to my room, and refuse to give either of them the reaction they're waiting for.
Then comes the fourth night.
It's just past 8 PM, and I am walking back down the quiet, dimly lit second-floor corridor after finishing a brief dinner downstairs.
My laptop is tucked under my arm, my mind already running through a set of market research files I need to analyze before morning.
As I near the end of the wing, a low, breathy moan cuts through the silence of the hallway.
I freeze mid-step.
The sound comes directly from the master suite.
My eyes drift toward the doorway, and my stomach tightens.
The heavy oak door has been left half-open.
Through the gap, I can see straight into the room.
The bedside lamps are low, casting warm shadows across the room.
Diane is on top of Jude, her bare back exposed to the doorway, a white sheet draped loosely around her waist.
Her head is thrown back as she moves against him, her soft groans filling the hallway.
And then Jude shifts.
Across the dark hallway, through the narrow crack in the door, his cold gaze locks onto mine, but he doesn't look away.
He doesn't make any attempt to close the door either.
A wave of pure disgust twists sharply in my stomach.
I tear my eyes away and hurry across the hall to my guest room.
I push the door shut, turn the lock with a sharp click, and press my back against the wood.
My heart is hammering against my ribs, not from heartbreak, but from the sheer vulgarity of it all.
I set my laptop on the desk, open a complex research database, and force my eyes onto the columns of data, typing furiously into the keyboard to drown out the lingering image.
[ *** ]
I assume it's a one-time lapse in basic decency.
I am wrong.
For the next two nights, the same thing happens.
After the third night, the pattern is impossible to ignore.
Like clockwork, whenever I walk down the hallway after dinner around 8:15 PM, the master suite door is left half-open.
Soft light spills across the runner, along with the sounds coming from inside.
The timing is so precise that it stops feeling spontaneous and starts feeling like a performance.
By the seventh night, my patience completely evaporates.
I finish my dinner, walk up the grand staircase, and hear the familiar, theatrical groaning echoing down the corridor before I even reach the wing.
I stop at the mouth of the hallway, take a slow, deep breath.
I walk across the hall, my heels striking the floorboards with sharp, deliberate precision.
When I reach the master suite, I don't look away, and I don't hurry past.
I reach out, grab the edge of the half-open door, and swing it completely open.
The door hits the inner wall with a heavy thud.
Diane lets out a sharp, startled shriek, instantly scrambling backward and yanking the silk duvet up to her collarbones, her eyes wide with shock as her loose dark hair tumbles over her shoulders.
Jude doesn't even blink.
He remains against the headboard, the sheet pulled loosely across his waist, looking at me like he'd been expecting me.
I stand squarely in the open doorway, my arms crossed.
"Are you doing this on purpose?" I ask. "Because at this point, your schedule is so remarkably consistent that it's becoming a nuisance to my nights."
Diane's face flushes a deep red, her eyes flashing with anger as she pushes herself up, opening her mouth to snap at me. "Excuse me? How dare you just barge in here—"
"I am talking to my husband," I say sharply, my gaze slicing through her without even turning my head to look her way.
Diane stops mid-sentence, staring at me in disbelief.
Jude's smirk deepens, amusement gleaming in his eyes.
Without taking his eyes off me, he raises a lazy hand and taps Diane's knee beneath the duvet, silently telling her to back down.
"Quiet, Diane," Jude says, still watching me. "Let my wife finish."
He rests his forearm over his knee, looking at me with a quiet, challenging glint.
"Besides, Irene, we've always maintained this routine. Maybe you're the one scheduling your walks around us."
I exhale slowly.
"If you have no conscience, that's your personal affair," I say, keeping my voice steady.
"But at least have the basic decency to shut your door. Save the rest of the house from having to look at your display. Or better yet, take it out to the lawn. At least out there, the open air might do you some good."
Jude's chuckle is low and quiet as he tilts his head back against the headboard, entirely unbothered. "I'll keep that suggestion in mind, Mrs. Verin."
Without another word, I reach for the brass handle, pull the heavy oak door shut with a firm, decisive click, and walk away.
I head straight to my room and lock the door behind me.
I sit at the small writing desk and open my laptop, bringing up the company directory for my father's former firm—KS Firm, now operating under the Verin corporate umbrella.
I look at the remote access toggle on my screen and turn it off, submitting an immediate transfer request to report to the physical office instead as an on-site data research analyst.
I'm done hiding in this guest room and letting him turn this place into a game.
Starting tomorrow morning, I'm working from the central office.
[ *** ]
The next morning, I get ready early, dressing in a sharp black blazer and tailored trousers.
I pack my laptop, grab my bag, and head downstairs toward the secondary staff kitchen.
I find Tania folding cloth napkins near the butler's pantry.
"Tania, good morning," I say, keeping my tone light. "Could you please ask one of the drivers to bring a car around? I need a ride into the central city to the KS Firm offices."
Tania pauses, her hands freezing over the linen.
"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Verin," Tania whispers, stepping closer so her voice doesn't carry.
"I spoke to the head driver this morning when I saw you getting ready. He said... well, he said he has strict orders from Mr. Jude. You aren't allowed to leave the estate grounds without his explicit permission."
I stare at her. "Strict orders?"
"Yes," Tania nods regretfully. "I'm really sorry."
"It's not your fault, Tania," I say through gritted teeth.
[ *** ]
I turn and march straight back up the grand staircase.
My heels strike the hardwood as I head down the corridor toward the master suite.
Without bothering to knock, I grab the heavy brass handle and push the door open with a sharp, heavy thud.
Jude sits at a large mahogany desk near the bay window, wearing nothing but a pair of dark trousers.
A cigarette burns between his fingers as he reviews a stack of documents.
Smoke curls slowly into the morning light filtering through the glass.
Over on the massive king bed, Diane is propped up against a heap of pillows, lazily scrolling through her phone.
She flicks her eyes toward me, offering a dismissive side-eye before turning back to her screen.
Jude doesn't even look up from his papers as he takes a drag from his cigarette.
"My wife really has zero manners," he remarks. "Just storming into other people's rooms whenever she pleases."
The sheer, absurd irony of his words nearly makes me laugh out loud.
"I need to go into the city," I say, ignoring his comment entirely. "And your driver informs me he can't take me without your permission. You cannot keep me stuck at this farmhouse like a prisoner, Jude."
He finally blows out a thin stream of smoke and tilts his head, putting on a look of mild, innocent confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Irene."
"Stop playing games," I snap.
I cross the room in long strides, stepping right up to the edge of his study desk.
I lean forward, hands flat against the dark wood, and stare him down from mere inches away. "I need to leave this estate. Right now. Before I end up killing someone in it."
Jude doesn't flinch.
Instead, he leans back slightly in his chair, his gaze moving over my face, lingering briefly on my lips before returning to my eyes.
He looks far too pleased with himself.
"Is that so?" he murmurs, his lips curving into a slow, infuriating smirk. "If you want the car, Mrs. Verin... say please."
The rage boiling inside me threatens to spill over.
My hands tighten on the edge of the desk.
Jude's eyes drop down to my balled-up hands.
His smirk widens, his brows subtly rising in mock amusement. "Are you really going to hit your own husband, Irene?"
Before I can lose my mind completely, I feel a sharp buzz in my blazer pocket.
I tear my eyes away from his smug face, pull out my phone, and glance at the screen.
It's an automated notification from KS Firm's internal HR portal:
Application for On-Site Transfer Approved. Please report to the Central Office Headquarters by 10:00 AM for desk assignment.
It's already 8:45 AM.
If I waste another twenty minutes arguing with him, I'll be late on my very first day.
I close my eyes and swallow my pride.
I take a half-step back from his desk, straighten my spine, and look directly into his dark, expectant eyes.
"Please," I say, forcing the word out. "Let me use the car."
Jude watches me for a long, quiet moment, basking in the small victory.
Finally, he gives a single, slow nod of his head.
"The driver will take you," he says, tapping the ash from his cigarette into a glass tray. "You'll have security with you, and you'll return when you're finished."
I don't offer him a thank you.
I don't give him a single word in response.
Hating him more in this single second than I ever thought possible, I spin around, stride out of the suite, and slam the door hard enough to rattle the frames in the hallway.
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