Alaric stood in the doorway holding the morning paper, his expression unreadable. Seraphina's heart jumped, but she forced her face into a welcoming smile.

"Good morning, my love."

He stepped into the dining room, setting the society section down next to her plate. The headline about her tea party victory stared up at them both.

"We need to talk about this article," he said, settling into the chair with the careful attention of someone studying a puzzle.

Perfect. This was her chance. But she could feel him watching, analyzing every reaction.

"Oh, that." She laughed, sounding embarrassed. "I can't believe they made such a fuss over a simple conversation."

His eyes didn't leave her face. "Simple conversation? You humiliated Cordelia in front of half the court."

Was that pride in his voice? Or a test? She couldn't tell yet.

"I hope it wasn't too harsh." She reached for the teapot, letting her fingers brush his as she poured his cup. "I finally felt confident enough to represent our family properly."

"Confident." He repeated the word like he was tasting it. "That's an interesting choice of words."

She could feel him probing, looking for cracks in her performance.

"All thanks to your patience and guidance." She set down the teapot and turned to face him fully. "You've been so understanding while I found my footing as your wife."

She reached up and straightened his collar, the gesture intimate and wifely. Her hands wanted to shake, but she kept them steady. He went very still under her touch, but his eyes stayed sharp. Calculating.

"I'll admit," she said, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret, "when Cordelia brought up your past... I felt a bit jealous."

Something flickered across his face. Not just interest now, but skepticism too.

"Jealous?" His tone was carefully neutral. "You've never seemed the jealous type."

Shit. She was pushing too hard, too fast.

"I know I haven't been... expressive about my feelings." She let vulnerability creep into her voice. "I was so intimidated by you, by this life, that I think I hid too much of myself."

His head tilted slightly. Still watching. Still testing.

"But seeing how other women still look at you made me realize what I could lose if I kept being so... timid." She looked down at her hands, playing the modest wife discovering her own desires. "You could have had anyone. Cordelia clearly thought she still had a chance. But you chose me."

"And now you want to fight for me?" There was something almost amused in his voice. Like he was enjoying watching her perform.

"I want to be worthy of you." She raised her eyes to his, making sure they held just the right amount of adoration mixed with uncertainty. "I wanted to show everyone that you didn't make a mistake."

He leaned back in his chair, studying her like she was a chess piece that had just made an unexpected move.

"You've changed," he said finally. "Almost overnight."

Danger. He was getting too close to the truth.

"Not changed," she said quickly. "Just... found my courage. You gave me that."

"Did I?" His smile was sharp. "And how exactly did I do that?"

Another test. He wanted to see if her story would hold up under pressure.

"By believing in me when I couldn't believe in myself." She reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers. "Every time you corrected me, guided me, showed me how to be better... you were building me up."

The contact made her stomach churn, but she held on. Let him feel how soft her skin was, how perfectly her hand fit in his.

"I just finally stopped being afraid of disappointing you."

His thumb traced across her knuckles, but his eyes stayed analytical. "And the tea party was your... debut?"

"My way of proving I could be the wife you deserve." She managed to sound breathless, like the admission cost her something. "I want to build on this. The respect I earned yesterday... I want to use it to honor our family name."

"How?"

Still testing. Still making her work for it. She could feel him getting closer to seeing through her act.

"I was thinking about charitable work. Social duties. The kinds of things expected of a duchess who's finally found her confidence." She paused, making it seem like the idea was just occurring to her. "But I'd need your guidance. I don't want to overstep."

"What kind of charitable work?"

His questions were getting sharper. More pointed. She needed to distract him before he pushed too far.

"Visiting orphanages. Supporting the arts. Maybe organizing relief efforts for the poor." She shrugged like these were just random thoughts. "Whatever would make the Vessant name shine brightest."

She could see him weighing her words, looking for the trap or the lie. His intelligence was sharp as a blade, and she could feel it cutting through her performance, testing every angle.

"You're asking for my permission to... help people?"

"I'm asking for your guidance on how to be the wife you deserve." The words tasted like ash, but she said them like a prayer. "I want to make you proud."

Something in his expression shifted. Not trust yet, but... consideration.

"I think," he said slowly, "that sounds like an excellent idea. Under the right supervision, of course."

Relief flooded through her, but she didn't let it show. Instead, she smiled like he'd just given her the world.

"Thank you," she breathed. "I don't know what I'd do without your wisdom."

But she could see the questions still forming in his eyes. The suspicion wasn't gone. He was still analyzing, still probing.

She needed to end this before he dug deeper.

"There's something else," she said, gathering her courage for the final move.

"What?"

Instead of answering with words, she leaned forward and kissed him.

It was calculated. Desperate. The only way to stop his questions and redirect his focus before he saw through her completely.

Her lips came down on his, soft but determined. His surprise lasted about half a second. Then he let her kiss him, responding just slightly, testing her. She could feel him analyzing even this - wondering if her boldness was genuine or performed.

When she started to pull back, thinking she'd accomplished her goal, his hand shot up to the back of her neck. He held her in place and deepened the kiss, taking control. His other hand gripped her waist, possessive and demanding.

This wasn't the warmth of a steady hand pulling her onto a horse, she thought. This was the cold fire of a man who wanted to cage what he couldn't break.

This wasn't part of her plan. But she had to keep performing. Had to match his intensity and make it seem like this was exactly what she'd wanted.

She could taste the wine on his lips, feel the heat of his mouth against hers. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling just hard enough to keep her where he wanted her. The kiss turned hungry, claiming, like he was marking territory.

She kissed him back with equal passion, letting him believe his dominance was driving her wild. Every response had to be perfect, every breath calculated to seem genuine.

He only let her go when they both needed air.

"What was that for?" he asked, his voice rougher now.

She forced her expression to match the heat she'd just performed.

"For being patient with me." She traced her finger along his jaw, fighting not to vomit. "For helping me become who I'm meant to be."

He caught her hand and pressed it flat against his chest. "You continue to surprise me."

"Good surprise, I hope?"

"Very good." His voice was getting lower, more intent. "I'm starting to think I never really knew my wife at all."

That was closer to the truth than he realized, she thought.

"Maybe," she said softly, "you're just finally seeing what you helped create."

The look in his eyes was shifting again. The suspicion wasn't gone, but it was being pushed aside by something stronger. Something hungry.

He looked at her like a man admiring his own creation, not for who she was, but for how perfectly she now played the part he thought he'd written.

She'd wanted to charm him just enough to gain his trust. To make him feel safe. Predictable. But now, his eyes didn't see a wife. They saw a reflection. Something he could claim. Something he believed he'd made.

His eyes lingered on her with new hunger, new possessiveness.