"Let you leave?" I laugh darkly, leaning down to let my words fan against her lips. "The only way you're getting out of this marriage is through death."

Her shoulders stiffen, and she stares up at me with unadulterated hate. "So, what then? You will see me dead? Is that truly what you wish?"

I force her head to the side, dragging my nose along her temple and into her hair, inhaling her drugging scent before I confess the truth.

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure."

Three days pass. Ivy remains locked in her room, and I do not visit her. Instead, I ask Antonia for reports, a detail she finds rather curious. She provides me updates as I request, informing me of Ivy's eating and sleeping habits. She tells me that my wife has requested access to the pool, and I return my order to deny her.

I know she will have to come out soon. Certain things will be expected of her. She is to attend events with me. There will be meetings with other wives regarding their endeavors and contributions within The Society. They take turns planning events, luncheons, dinners, and ensuring the businesses run smoothly by keeping them adequately staffed. Ivy will be expected to participate at some level, although not as much as the others. She married a Sovereign Son, so many expectations are cast upon her. The way she dresses, speaks, and carries herself will all be scrutinized. But because she bears my mark, nobody will ever dare whisper their judgments in a space where she or I might hear them. It is her duty to sew herself into the fabric of our organization and truly become one of the upper echelon.

My wife will need rules. A schedule. Something to occupy her time until she is round with my child. I should be working on that now. Night and day, until I have made her mine in every sense of the word. But the longer she remains in the house, the more difficult it becomes to remember my control.

I don't know what I'm trying to prove by my absence. Is it for her benefit or mine?

I drown myself in my work, staring at the wall of monitors in my office, picking apart the data and scrutinizing it to death. Mercedes comes to me often, trying to wear me down with her questions.

Sleep doesn't come for me. Instead, I wander the halls of The Manor at night, pausing outside Ivy's door. More than once, I have stood there with my palm on the wood, considering our last conversation. I showed her my hand, and now she understands what I want.

Will she run the moment my back is turned? Will she stay and fight?

I truly don't know.