We had dinner together that night. I’d made her eat, watching every bite like it was proof she belonged here. She was quiet, but she obeyed, and for me, that was enough. Later, we returned to bed. She fell asleep in my arms, stiff but unmoving, her breath shallow against my chest.

But I never promised her rest.

When the clock struck midnight, I opened my eyes. My grip around her waist hadn’t loosened once. I nudged her shoulder, my voice low and deliberate.

“Wake up.”

She stirred faintly, groaning under her breath. Her lashes fluttered, but she kept her eyes closed, pretending.

“Don’t,” I warned, my mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “Don’t fake sleep with me.”

Her eyes snapped open at that, hazy with irritation and confusion.

“What is it?” she whispered, voice thick with drowsiness.

“Kiss me.”

She froze, lips parting in disbelief. “What?”

I tilted her chin up, forcing her face to mine, my thumb pressing against the corner of her mouth. “You heard me.”

Before she could argue, my lips covered hers. It wasn’t rushed, nor cruel — it was deliberate, consuming, the kiss of a man claiming a promise he’d made hours earlier. I moved slow, pressing her mouth open beneath mine, drawing out the resistance until I felt her breath break against me.

She tried to push weakly at my chest, but I caught her wrist, pinning it against the mattress. My other hand stayed at her jaw, keeping her trapped beneath the weight of my kiss.

When I finally pulled back, I pressed one more slow drag of lips over hers — softer, but no less binding.

“This,” I whispered against her mouth, “is how you’ll sleep from now on. You’ll wake when I tell you. You’ll kiss me when I ask. It’s not a request. It’s ritual.”

Her brows furrowed, frustration sparking through the haze of sleep. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” I said, brushing my thumb over her damp bottom lip. “But you’ll learn to live in my madness. You’ll breathe it until it’s the only air you know.”

I kissed her again, slower this time, then dragged her back into the circle of my arms, locking her against me. Her body remained tense long after, but I smiled into her hair. She was awake now, staring into the dark, realizing what I meant. That this wasn’t a man’s whim. This was a pattern. A cage of devotion she’d never leave.

---

**Breakfast — the next morning**

The day passed in heavy silence, but I was patient. I didn’t need words from her — not when I could control her in other ways.

By the time dinner was served, she hadn’t come down. As always, she thought silence would shield her.

I didn’t give her the choice. I carried her down myself, her body stiff in my arms as though the closeness burned her. In the dining hall, I seated her at the table, then took the chair beside her.

Her plate remained empty until I filled it myself, sliding it toward her.

“Eat,” I said, voice calm, unyielding.

She hesitated. I picked up the spoon, lifting it toward her lips as though feeding a child. “Open.”

Her eyes flashed, stubborn. “I can feed myself.”

“Then do it,” I said easily, placing the spoon in her hand, watching as she took slow, deliberate bites. Each movement of her mouth, each swallow, drew my attention like a magnet. Its amusing that i find her elegant even in such small involuntary acts. She kept her gaze lowered, ignoring me — until I spoke again.

“Kiss me.”

Her hand froze, spoon clattering softly against the plate.

“Not here,” she hissed under her breath, her eyes flickering toward the servants lingering by the walls.

My head tilted slightly. “Here. Now.”

Her chest rose sharply, her lips tightening. For a moment, I thought she’d defy me. But then, with visible reluctance, she leaned forward — brushing her mouth against mine, quick, fleeting.

It wasn’t enough.

My hand caught her chin before she could pull away, holding her still as I deepened the kiss, slow and deliberate, not caring about the silent witnesses. My thumb stroked her cheek, forcing her lips to part until I tasted the tremor of her breath.

When I released her, she sat frozen, her cheeks burning with humiliation.

“Good,” I murmured, low enough for her alone. “Before breakfast, and after. Don’t forget.”

Her eyes widened, the reality sinking deeper. I gestured toward her plate. “Finish your food.”

She obeyed quickly this time, almost desperately. But the moment she put the spoon down, I leaned closer, my breath ghosting her ear.

“Now kiss me again.”

Her head snapped toward me, eyes narrowing into a sharp glare. Irritation colored her face, but instead of angering me, it tugged a smile from my lips. She looked almost… cute when she was fed up.

“No,” she snapped, her glare fixed like daggers.

My smile widened, amusement mingling with possession. “You’re my wife. It’s your duty. A wife should feed her husband with more than food”.

She stopped in her tracks, her cheeks turning pink yet she rolled her eyes. Bold. Defiant. Beautiful.

She ate in silence. Every bite was deliberate, her eyes fixed on the plate, refusing to lift them toward me.

I waited. I leaned into her space, brushed my arm against hers, even let my fingers toy with the bangles on her wrist. Nothing. She chewed slowly, swallowed, as though I didn’t exist.

I smiled darkly. “So you’ve decided not to play? That silence will save you?”

She kept eating, lips pressing together tightly.

“Alright,” I said softly, sitting back. “If silence is your weapon, then I’ll use mine.”

Her hand trembled slightly on the spoon, though she didn’t look up.

“Do you know what I imagine when you kiss me?” My voice dipped low, gravelly. “I imagine pinning you against the nearest wall, your legs wrapped around me, your saree pushed aside, while you’re still breathless from the kiss.”

Her spoon clinked against the plate, but she still didn’t look up.

“You think kissing me is a ritual?” I tilted my head. “No, sweetheart. It’s the ignition. The first spark. Because once you put those lips on mine, I want them everywhere.”

Finally, her eyes flicked toward me — startled, wide — before darting back to her plate.

A smirk spread across my mouth. “Yes. I want your mouth sliding down my chest, lower, until you’re on your knees under this very table. Would you stay stubborn then, with my hand in your hair? Or would you learn how to beg properly?”

Her hand flew to her mouth in shock, her face flushing deep pink.

I leaned closer, my breath brushing her ear. “And when you roll your eyes at me, like you do…” My voice roughened. “…it only makes me want to bend you over this dining table, pull that stubborn saree up to your waist, and fuck you hard enough that your glare melts into screams.”

She gasped audibly this time, her knuckles whitening around the edge of her chair, her body stiff with disbelief.

I chuckled low, savoring her reaction. “Don’t cover your mouth, love. I want to hear every sound. The choked moans, the broken pleas, the way you’ll curse me while still taking me deeper. Silence won’t save you there.”

Her head shook quickly, as if to shake my words out of her ears, but her blush betrayed her.

I leaned back leisurely, my smirk lingering. “Now, finish your breakfast. Pretend to ignore me, if you must. But remember…” My eyes locked onto her lips. “Every bite you swallow only makes me wonder what else I can force into that pretty mouth of yours.”

Her spoon clattered again, and she refused to touch another bite.

I laughed under my breath, low and dangerous. “That’s better. Silent rebellion is boring. But when you blush for me? When you can’t even eat because of the things I make you imagine? That’s when you’re most mine.”