Her biting words are a reminder that turmoil lingers in her thoughts, but by all rights, she should expect to be punished for speaking in such a tone, regardless of her feelings. However, I find that I am not in the mood to punish her right now, and I suspect that it will not improve her feelings of attending our first event together as a married couple. I need tonight to go well. The Society has expectations of their Sovereign Sons, and part of those expectations are a smooth integration of their chosen partner into the upper echelon. It is my duty to take Ivy to the masquerade gala tonight and show her off. Every man will be envious of me when they see her, and I take pleasure in knowing it. There can be no exceptions to her performance as a dutiful wife.

Mercedes glances at me questioningly, waiting for my reaction to Ivy's bitterness. I am aware it will only further her contention when I forcibly take my wife's arm and lead her to the door without another word. My sister follows behind, and we all converge at the car where Marco is waiting to drive us.

The journey to the compound is stilted with silence. Mercedes stews on one side of me, and Ivy on the other. None of us speak, but when we arrive, I tell Mercedes to go inside without us. We exit the car, and I hold back to study my wife. Her blood-red lips are tempting me beneath the streetlight. Veiled in mystery, draped in black and gold, she has never been so beautiful.

I drag her close to my body, even as she resists, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "You know what is expected of you this evening."

"Yes," she bites back.

Despite the harshness of her tone, I can feel the tremble in her muscles as I press my body firmly against hers. Is it a sign of her fear or her unwanted desire?

Darkness settles over me as I conclude it is of course fear. It can never be anything else.

"Be good, and you will be rewarded," I tell her. "Misbehave, and I will make you beg for mercy."

She turns her face away from me, and I release her only to settle my palm over my mark on the nape of her neck, guiding her inside the compound and down the corridor to the ballroom. Two men in suits open the doors for us, ushering us inside the space reserved for the biggest events of the year. Rich shades of crimson and black adorn the walls, and to my satisfaction, the grand chandeliers cast only a soft glow over the floor, in keeping with the mystery of the evening. The seductive notes of jazz float from the speakers, luring us into the center of the room.