Rain pounded the panes outside, wind entwining the house in a suppliant embrace. I unblessly stood in the giant bed of the east wing, gazing up at the starry gilt of the ceiling. Stars teased me—unmoving, out of reach, forever.

I had cried until there was no water left in me, but my chest ached, hollowed and bruised. The house was vacant except for the staccato boom of thunder and gusty deep breath.

But within the house beyond hearing, music drifted thin through walls. A piano. Laughter. Clinking glasses.

I bumped my head against the pillow, bumped it away from me. But the laughter grew, louder and more piercing, with a woman's voice that I did not recognize.

Elara.

I had not looked at her, had not seen her face, and yet I recognized. I sensed it in my bones.

Nathaniel was not with me. He was with her.

Reality was not as terrible as he uttered moments before. You are not my wife.

I pulled the blankets tighter around me, refusing to hear, attempt to squirm myself into nothingness, disregard. But my ears tricked me, went on hearing with each creaking noise. My body groaned with fatigue, yet sleep did not come near.

---

Nathaniel's POV

Crystal decanters glinted on the table, the amber liquid bubbling as I poured a fourth glass. My tie was undone around my neck, my shirt open around mid-chest. The line of control fell apart with each glass, and the smell of Elara on my skin a dissipating mist.

She leaned against me, scarlet dress slipping off a shoulder, low evil laughter in my ear. "Married," she taunted, fingers tracing my jaw. "And already tired of it?"

"Don't say that," I growled, my throat dry. The heat transported me to an even keel, or at least convinced myself so.

She arched her eyebrow in tandem. "What do you want me to do? You signed your name on the dotted line, you recited the vows, you kissed the bride."

"It was nothing." My teeth hurt. "She was nothing."

Elara smiled, her eyes shining with tears. "Good. Because you're mine, Nathaniel. Always."

Her lips brushed against mine, with wine and with passion. I allowed her to envelop me, for she alone was real. The sole reminder that I wasn't totally ice.

And then, later, there had been a seed sown in my mind. The bride abandoned. Her large eyes. Her trembling hands when she spoke the three words.

Guilt ate away at me, raw and bitter.

I suppressed it with another swig.

"Elara," I sighed, my face buried in her locks, my nose filled with the scent of her perfume.

"You are my rightful wife."

She smiled gently, victorious.

---

Lucien's POV

I slumped against the study door, pouting, guarding, but tonight more guarding outside of a war zone. The muffled sound of laughter and broken glasses passed behind the heavy door.

My jaw clenched when I shifted my weight, arms crossed. The boss had been drinking too much again. I disapproved.

He wasn't cruel drunk—not even. He was careless.

The door slammed open, and I stood frozen as Nathaniel lurched out, Elara hanging on to his arm. Drink-glazed eyes, cold unkind smile.

"Lucien," he slurred.

"A favor."

I bent my head. "Sir."

He roared with laughter, his glass lifted in derisive invitation. "My bride."

The two words reeked with contempt.

I raised an eyebrow. "What about her?"

"Take care of her."

His voice was so deep I barely could understand what he puked up against the storm raging outside.

I stiffened. I must have dreamed it. "Sir?"

His grin never falters, but warning flickered in his eyes. "She's resting in bed like some little lamb. But I…" He looked at Elara, his gaze aflame with lust. "I have other needs this night."

The implication shocked me. My gut roiled.

"You want me to—"

"Yes." Nathaniel's voice was firm, overruling my protest. "Go to her. Be a wife. Offer her. what she feels she is owed."

Elara's smile stretched, pressing forward against him. "Oh, Nathaniel, you're wicked."

I balled my fists at my sides. "With respect, sir, that's not—"

His gaze fell on me, as unforgiving as the cutting edge of a blade. "That's not what?"

I pulled the words through my teeth. To defy him in public was danger. To acquiesce to him in this. worse.

"Sir," I told him, coldly, "she's your wife."

"She's a pawn," he snarled, voice dropping to ice. "A name. That is all. Don't pretend like she's anything but that."

It hung, not-breathing silence. His eyes pierced through mine, daring me to disobey him.

And he spun and shooed me away with a wrist flip. "Do it."

There was no question in his voice.

I was held, each muscle hard as stone. Elara's laughter echoed behind him, icy and contemptuous, as he pulled her into the study.

The door closed.

I stood alone with the order.

And with the choice.

---

Serena's POV

Outside weather too had settled down, but in the house it was damp and suffocating. I lay stretched out at the edge of the bed, hands around knees, silk nightgown now a see-through nightgown. The house was more quiet than usual now, that earlier laughter nowhere to be seen.

I did not attempt to imagine what it was, but my head deceived me nonetheless. I saw him with her. She was in his arms. Kissing her. Restrainting her. Allowing her everything that he would not allow me.

One of my tears fell from my cheek, burning on chilly skin. I pushed it away in anger. I did not wish to cry anymore.

But there was a breaking of silence.

Footsteps. Heavy. Trustworthy. Coming.

I was stiff, frozen breath. My door.

A paper slipped down under the splash of light from the doorway. My heart was racing.

The handle was turned.

The creaking door creaked open.

Lucien was there. Tall, wide shoulders, face in shadow, eyes not readable.

I gasped. "Lucien?"

He did not respond.

For a moment, the storm outside again howled into screaming, and I saw....

He hadn't come of his own accord.

He had been pulled.