My breath hitched, but no words would come.
He watched me for a moment longer—then rose.
Slow.
Predatory in the way he unfolded from the chair, like every movement was calculated to remind me exactly who he was.
“And starting tonight,” he said, voice flat, “you sleep in my room.”
My stomach dropped.
“It’s about time you start fulfilling your... wife duties,” he added, each word measured.
Wife duties?
We’d shared separate rooms since the first day of our marriage—and part of me had preferred it that way.
Before I even realized, my head shook, a small, reflexive motion.
“No—”
The word came out sharper than intended.
“I’m not letting you have sex with me.”
“Not like this.”
My voice trembled, but I forced the words out anyway.
“Not while you keep treating me like—”
“You will be in my room before 10:00 p.m. every night,” he cut in.
The interruption was immediate.
“You will not leave until after 6:00 a.m.”
Each word landed like a command carved into stone.
“That’s a command. Not a request.”
He lifted his wrist slightly, glancing at the heavy steel watch there.
“It’s 9:45.”
Another beat.
“I suggest you eat something substantial. You’ll need strength—not just for tonight, but for every night that follows.”
The implication settled between us.
“And if I were you,” he added, his voice dropping to something quieter. “I wouldn’t be late.”
“Not even a second.”
He turned and walked away.
Leaving me there.
