“This house is mine, Valentina.” My eyes held hers. “Everything in it belongs to me.”
The fury in her dark eyes sparked something viciously satisfying in my chest.
She understood what I meant.
I wasn’t talking about the bedroom.
Valentina drew in a breath, visibly forcing herself not to scream or shove me back into the hallway. The staff finished arranging the meal and slipped out, closing the door behind them.
Silence dropped.
Just the two of us.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her laugh bitter, her sarcasm sharp enough to cut. “Trying to remind me you can still humiliate me whenever you want?”
I stepped closer until the space between us felt intentionally small.
“First,” I said, voice low and controlled, “you’re going to understand that your will in this house is irrelevant. You do what I say, when I say it.” I kept my eyes locked on hers. “If I say we’re having dinner together, then we’re having dinner together.”
Valentina lifted her chin, defiance burning bright.
“And what if I don’t feel like it?” she shot back. “What are you going to do—tie me down and spoon-feed me?”
My smile widened—slow, cruel.
“Of course not.” I let the pause stretch. “But then starting tomorrow, you’ll go hungry.”
Her face changed instantly.
I watched the impact land.
“I’ve already instructed the staff,” I continued, calm as a man discussing weather, “to serve you meals away from the main table only when I’m not in the house.”
“You’re sick,” she said, voice trembling with rage, fists clenching at her sides.
I leaned in close enough for my words to feel like breath against her skin.
“No,” I said softly. “I’m your husband.” I let the title sit there like a blade. “And I don’t intend to endure your presence for more than one meal a day. So you’ll sit with me every night—whether you like it or not.”
Valentina’s nostrils flared. She fought for control the way she always did—by stiffening, by refusing to let emotion show too much.
It didn’t matter.
The tension between us thickened until it felt almost physical.
“And now,” I said, straightening and moving toward the table, “we’re going to eat.” I sat with unhurried composure and glancedat the chair across from me. “You’re going to sit down and tell me everything about my daughter’s life.”
I made a small gesture—mock courteous.
“So please, my dear wife… sit.”
Valentina stayed frozen for several long seconds, her expression a mixture of disbelief and hatred.
Then something shifted inside her—something hard.
With cold, defiant dignity, she walked to the table and sat in the chair across from me.
“I hope you’re satisfied, my lord,” she said, voice dripping with contempt.
