I watched each word land like a physical blow.
"You are completely dependent on me. For food, shelter, safety. Your survival."
Tears gathered, but she blinked them back furiously.
Good. I didn't want her to break—just to understand reality.
"So when I give you a command, you have two choices: obey, or face the consequences."
She hesitated before asking in almost a whisper, "What consequences?"
I studied her—really looked for the first time.
The dress was wrinkled, makeup smudged, dark curly hair falling from its elaborate prison. She looked exhausted and utterly vulnerable. It was just past midnight.
Something in my chest—conscience? Impossible—made me pause.
I could force this. Make her strip, take what I wanted, establish absolute dominance. Set the tone for our entire marriage.
But breaking her served no purpose.
I needed a wife who could function in my world. Who could smile at dinners, attend events without falling apart. Not a traumatized shell who flinched when I entered a room.
And something about her defiance made me want toearnher submission.
The realization surprised me.
"The consequences," I said finally, stepping back, "are that this marriage becomes much harder than it needs to be."
I moved to the bar, poured another scotch I didn't want. Gave her room to breathe.
The relief on her face was palpable—and oddly satisfying.
"I won't force you tonight."
She sagged against the window.
"But understand this," I continued. "We are married. That marriage needs to look real. Which means certain expectations must be met."
"What expectations?"
"My enemies will look for weakness. If they discover this marriage is a sham—if they find out you're not who you're supposed to be—we both become targets."
I took a drink. "There will be doctors. Medical examinations for insurance, prenuptial health screenings. Standard for families like ours."
I watched her process this.
Then I asked the question circling my mind. "Are you a virgin?"
She went very still. Color flooded her cheeks.
"That's none of your business."
"It's entirely my business. You're my wife." I set down my glass. "Answer the question, Paola."
A long pause.
Then, barely audible: "Yes."
