Back in the sterile safety of her room at Sutton Manor, Elsie felt like she had survived a hurricane. She peeled off the Chanel dress, which now felt like a costume from a play where she had forgotten all her lines.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror, at the blush that still stained her cheeks. His words echoed in her mind, a relentless, shocking loop. I have a very high sex drive.
Niam brought her a glass of warm water, his eyes questioning. She shook her head, trying to signal that she was fine, but the tremor in her hands betrayed her.
She placed Duke's business card on her nightstand. It looked small and innocuous, but it felt like a live grenade.
She expected to lie awake all night, but the sheer emotional exhaustion pulled her under. She dreamt of dark, unreadable eyes.
The next morning, Elsie was in her small, private studio, a converted sunroom where she kept her collection of fabric swatches from around the world. The textures and colors were her only real comfort.
Her phone rang, shattering the peace. It was her mother.
"The meeting went well," Hermina said, her voice crisp and devoid of emotion. "Mr. Blake was... satisfied."
Elsie felt nothing. Her mother only ever cared about the bottom line.
"Since he is satisfied," Hermina continued, "we can now proceed with the next phase of our agreement."
"What agreement?" Elsie asked, a knot of dread tightening in her stomach.
"As of today, your freedom of movement will be determined solely by Mr. Duke Blake."
The blood drained from Elsie's face. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Hermina explained with chilling clarity, "that if you wish to leave the manor for any reason-shopping, a doctor's appointment, a visit to your little dressmaker-you must first obtain his permission. It was his request. A measure to ensure your future safety."
Elsie's fingers tightened around her phone, her knuckles turning white.
Her cage hadn't disappeared. It had just been assigned a new warden. A warden who was more powerful, more unpredictable, and infinitely more terrifying than her mother.
"I have already synced your external travel protocols with Mr. Blake's security team," Hermina added as a final warning. "They will be coordinating with our staff to oversee your safety whenever you leave the grounds. Do not attempt to do anything foolish."
The line went dead.
Elsie stood frozen, a profound, bone-deep chill spreading through her.
She had thought this marriage was her ticket out. Now it seemed she had merely traded one prison for a maximum-security fortress.
Her gaze fell on a bolt of exquisite silk from Lake Como, Italy. It had been reserved for her by Greta Novak, the owner of her favorite couture workshop. She had planned to visit Greta next week to discuss a new design.
Now, that simple trip was a privilege she had to request from Duke Blake.
A hot wave of humiliation and anger surged through her. She would not be a passive prisoner.
Her eyes landed on the business card on her nightstand.
Fear was still there, a cold knot in her gut. But the primal need for freedom, for a single breath of fresh air, was stronger.
She had to contact him. Not just to get permission, but to test the rules of her new confinement. To find the cracks in the walls.
She picked up her phone, her thumb hovering over his name. She took a deep, steadying breath and began to type, weighing every single word.
