Aleiya had already stirred from her rest, but remained quiet, vigilant.

  She pretended to sleep as she listened to her husband’s conversation with the Oliver person. The smooth movement Sullivan made, a light swing to the right, was what woke her.

  So, she kept calm.

  She kept still.

  She didn’t want to interrupt their conversation. She was still unsure of the rules here. She planned to get up after Oliver left.

  But then Sullivan rested his cheek on her head.

  She liked it.

  It felt nice, warm, comforting. She liked the woody musk that clung to him, though it was fading.

  Even as she felt the skirt of her dress lift, she still did not move. Didn’ t feel the need to. Aleiya wasn’t a fool. This was going to happen at some point. All men were lascivious animals after all. She was told this time and time again.

  She should not trust them.

  She should never be alone with them.

  It was something her mother had said so often, it had rooted deep in her bones.

  “All men are the same.”

  “They hunt weak little things like you.”

  They would run them down, she once said. Capture them in the light of the sun, and take them back to their hidden lairs—just to tear them to pieces. That was why she had to stay inside.

  Because one day, some horrible monster of a man would steal her away.

  Drag her from her room.

  Carry her off to some dark place, never to be seen again.

  In a way she was right.

  That monster of a man did come. He did steal her away—carried her far from the only home she had ever known. But unlike the hairy toad with too many eyes she had once envisioned, her monster wore white silk gloves and said “I do.”

  Which meant Sullivan was different.

  He was kind. He made her feel safe. He allowed her to say yes or no or nothing at all. That made him different… didn’t it? He was her husband after all.

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  She could feel his dry cracked hand on the skin of her hip. Still so warm. Still so calloused. A flush crept into her cheeks as she waited—still, quiet, maybe even a little eager—for him to continue.

  Part of her had wanted more—wanted him—and that part shamed her more than any touch ever could. She told herself to feel nothing—not relief, not desire. Just stillness. No need to make this complicated. She just needed to be useful in some way.

  Honestly, she told herself it was better this way.

  Men grew bored.

  That’s what she was told. But if he liked her, if he wanted her, she could stay here. She liked it better here. She liked him better too.

  So this was fine.

  It had to be fine.

  She would make it fine.

  But as she lay perfectly still—bracing, yet content with whatever was to come—she felt her skirt fall back into place.

  Her husband had stopped and she didn’t know why.

  She was relieved but also… disappointed. She continued waiting, perhaps this was a test or trick. But nothing came.

  The familiar feeling of piano wire tightened around her throat. His words from the night before crept back in. Reminding her of her worth. Reminding her of her place.

  She was a “necessary evil”. Nothing more. She exhaled softly, as if releasing something that had never been hers to keep. But the pain remained.

  After a few moments, she knew she couldn’t pretend to be asleep any longer. Aleiya roused herself, painfully aware of the snake that nearly devoured her whole, but stood at its mouth anyway.

  With a breath and a quiet huff, she pushed herself upright. She looked to Sullivan, the sleep still in her eyes. The unassuming smile she greeted him with made the guilt sink faster than lead in his gut.

  To him, she had no idea.

  He swallowed it down hard. “Did you sleep well?”

  She gave a small nod as she looked around.

  Aleiya’s gaze drifted around the unfamiliar room, brows slightly pinched. She blinked slow and heavy, as if her mind was still catching up with her body. The heel of her hand tried to rub the sleep away, but it only brought on a yawn.

  Where was she?

  “We’re in my office. I didn’t have a chance to put you down last night.” Sullivan answered her silent questions almost without thinking.

  She nodded again, but remained in his lap.

  Aleiya wasn’t entirely sure what she should be doing. Back home, she was at least in her own room, surrounded by whatever things she was allowed to have. Her hands clasped together in front of her, thumbs absentmindedly rubbing over the backs of her hands as a quiet tension crept in.

  The silence felt a little too thick between them now.

  “Did you have any dreams?” he asked, running from his own guilt. Running from the feeling of her body still pressed against his.

  She shook her head once.

  ‘Thankfully,’ she thought.

  She was always floating—weightless, suspended in a sea of dust and glittering debris. The remnants of broken stars drifted around her like ash, delicate and slow. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t breathe. Only stare—wide-eyed and paralyzed—as the cosmos loomed around her in silence.

  But not in darkness, in presence.

  Vast. Ancient. Familiar in the way the deep ocean might be to something born from it. She felt it watching her. Not cruelly, not kindly—just… watching. Waiting. As if it were trying to remember her. As if it were lost.

  Sometimes, she thought it might speak.

  Sometimes, she hoped not.

  And every time she woke, she felt lonely and sad.

  She shook her head again, softer this time, then glanced around the room—drinking it all in.

  “I have work to get back to. So feel free to roam around as you wish.”

  Sullivan gently guided her from his lap to stand on her own two feet. He needed the space. No. She needed it. It would be much safer if she stayed an arm’s length away.

  He grabbed the black leather gloves on the desk and put them on—discarding the single silk glove into a desk drawer.

  Aleiya kept her hands to herself, but made room for her husband to stand. Roam freely. She knew better than to trust words like that.

  Did he mean the room? The hall?

  How far was “freely”?

  How long?

  For what purpose?

  What a horrifying phrase.

  Then a knock—loud, intrusive, incessant—on the door.