By evening, the mansion had split into territories.
His study was his command center.
The bedroom—neutral ground.
The rest of the house? Undefined.
She stood in the walk-in closet, staring at the rows of designer dresses that had been delivered that afternoon without her consent. Silk. Satin. Structured elegance in shades of ivory, deep emerald, midnight blue.
Armor.
That’s what they were.
She ran her fingers over a black gown with a daring neckline.
A statement.
A challenge.
He wanted unity. Control. Presentation.
Fine.
Tonight, she would give him a performance he wouldn’t anticipate.
A knock sounded lightly on the bedroom door.
“Madam,” the house manager said politely, “Sir requested your presence at dinner. Seven sharp.”
Of course he did.
She checked the time.
6:42.
Pl
