Moody Day Painting.

Salviana could feel his presence—his piercing gaze burning into her—but she ignored him. She didn't turn to him, didn't acknowledge him.

Her usual morning routine, once filled with laughter and soft conversation, now felt hollow. She should have been enjoying this, but how could she?

Salviana sat stiffly before the mirror, her expression composed, but inside, she was seething.

How could he be so selfish?

First, he deprived her of her womanly rights—her husbandly rights!—and then he had the audacity to scold her as if she were a child who had misbehaved.

The maids sensed the tension thick in the air, an invisible battle waging between their lord and lady. Sarah and Thalia exchanged wary glances as they adjusted Salviana's sleeves, neither daring to comment.

And then there was him.