Chapter 1

Ethan knelt on the cold marble floor, the harsh smell of industrial cleaner burning his nostrils.

Five years.

Five years of this.

His wife, Seraphina, stood over him, her arms crossed, a slight smirk on her perfectly painted lips.

"Again, Ethan. And this time, mean it."

He recited the words she had written for him, his voice flat, "I am unclean. I am not worthy of Seraphina's purity."

The scrubbing brush in his hand felt rough against his skin, already raw from countless "cleansings."

Their marriage was a pristine, empty showroom, sexless, devoid of any warmth.

Any accidental touch from him, a brush of hands, a bump in the hallway, meant this.

This ritual humiliation.

He finished scrubbing the designated square of the vast bathroom floor.

Seraphina inspected it, then nodded, a dismissive flick of her wrist.

"You may rise."

He got to his feet, his knees aching.

Later that day, Seraphina returned from one of her many "charity luncheons."

She swept past him, her perfume a cloud he was conditioned to avoid.

As she shrugged off her silk wrap, he saw it.

A dark, angry mark on the pale skin of her collarbone.

A fresh love bite.

His breath caught.

Without thinking, his hand moved, his fingers lightly brushing the mark.

Seraphina froze.

He expected the usual explosion, the immediate order for another, more severe "cleansing."

Instead, her eyes widened, then narrowed.

She snatched her wrap, clutching it to her chest, and stormed out of the room without a word.

No punishment.

That was new.

A tiny, foolish flicker of something he hadn't felt in years, something like hope, stirred within him.

Maybe, just maybe, something had shifted.