The message arrived on a quiet evening, just as Claudia was stepping out of the shower.

Peter was in bed, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, when Claudia’s notification buzzed on the nightstand. She wrapped a towel around herself, reaching for her phone with damp fingers, and froze when she saw the name on the screen.

Richard.

She hesitated for only a second before unlocking it.

Richard:
Claudia, Evelyn and I would love for you and Peter to join us for a private dinner at our home this Saturday.
Just the four of us. A chance to enjoy a more… personal evening together.
Let me know if you’re interested.

Claudia’s heart skipped a beat.

Private.
Personal.

The words lingered in her mind as she read them again.

Peter, still looking at his own phone, hadn’t noticed her reaction yet.

Claudia swallowed, turning toward him. “Richard sent a message.”

That got his attention. He glanced up, eyebrows knitting slightly, then sat up. “What does he want?”

Claudia handed him the phone. He read the message twice.

His grip on the device tightened slightly, but his expression remained neutral. “Just dinner?”

Claudia bit her lip. “That’s what he says.”

A pause.

They both knew better.

This wasn’t just an invitation. It was a step deeper. A deliberate move.

Peter exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “And… what do you think?”

Claudia hesitated—but not out of uncertainty. She knew exactly how she felt.

Excited. Curious.

And something else she wasn’t quite ready to name.

She tilted her head, watching Peter. “I think… it would be interesting.”

Peter held her gaze. Searching for something.

After a moment, he exhaled slowly, then nodded. “Then we should go.”

Claudia’s lips parted slightly—surprised, but pleased.

She turned back to the phone, her pulse quickening as she typed out a simple reply.

Claudia: We’d love to.

The response came almost immediately.

Richard:
Good.
Saturday at 8. We’ll be expecting you.

The message was short, final, and absolute.

Expectation.

They had agreed.

Now, there was no turning back.

The hours leading up to the dinner felt strangely heavier than they should have.

Peter stood at the closet, staring at his dress shirts as if he had forgotten how to dress himself.

“It’s just dinner,” he muttered under his breath, but even saying it out loud didn’t make it feel true.

From across the room, Claudia let out a small hum, distracted as she sifted through her own options.

Nothing felt quite right.

A dress? Too formal.
Something casual? That felt… wrong.
Something elegant, but effortless?

She reached for a silky champagne-colored blouse and a fitted black skirt with a slit in the back, holding them up against her frame.

She liked the way the material clung to her, flattering but not trying too hard.

Still, something nagged at her.

Would Richard like it?

The thought slipped in so naturally that it startled her.

She had dressed for him before—the night of the party, she had sent him a picture for approval. 

This was just a dinner.

Wasn’t it?

Her fingers twitched around her phone, the instinct to take a picture already forming.

She hesitated.

Would that be… strange?

Richard hadn’t asked her to send anything. But then again, wouldn’t he expect her to look perfect?

Claudia swallowed, staring at the outfit in her hands.

Something about not having his approval left a hollow feeling in her chest.

She didn’t like that.

Not because it was wrong.

Because she wanted it.

She took a slow breath, shaking off the thought, and turned to Peter.

“What are you wearing?” she asked lightly, hoping to distract herself.

Peter glanced over, sighing as he held up a dark navy button-down. “This, I guess.”

Claudia tilted her head, taking him in. “Looks good.”

Peter forced a small smirk. “Would Richard approve?”

Claudia froze for half a second.

Peter meant it as a joke—he had no idea how close he was to the thought running through her head.

She recovered quickly, rolling her eyes. “I don’t need Richard’s approval for everything.”

But the way she said it… it wasn’t entirely convincing.

Peter let the comment hang in the air, watching her for a moment longer before returning to close the buttons of his shirt.

The tension between them was different tonight.

Not nervous.

Just… charged.

Finally, Claudia exhaled, smoothing her hands down her skirt.

“Ready?” she asked.

Peter nodded, but the truth was, neither of them knew if they really were.

The driveway was just as impressive as Peter remembered—long, lined with towering trees, each one carefully illuminated to create an almost theatrical effect.

The house itself stood in quiet elegance, its large windows aglow with warm, inviting light, as if the evening had been curated just for them.

Peter tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he pulled up to the entrance.

This wasn’t like the party.

This felt smaller. More intimate.

Next to him, Claudia smoothed her hands down her skirt again, exhaling softly. She looked calm—composed, even—but Peter recognized the slight tension in her posture.

Neither of them had said much during the drive.

Because there wasn’t much to say.

They both knew this dinner wasn’t just a casual gathering.

Peter stepped out first, moving around the car to open the door for Claudia. She took his hand as she stepped onto the stone path, her heels clicking softly against the surface.

The front door opened before they even had a chance to knock.

Richard stood in the entryway.

His dark, tailored pants fit perfectly, the fabric crisp but effortless. The sleeves of his black button-down were rolled up just enough, exposing the sharp lines of his forearms—casual, yet composed.

He didn’t need to try.

He simply was.

His gaze flickered over Claudia first, taking her in with an appreciative nod.

"You look stunning," he said smoothly.

Claudia’s lips curved slightly, but Peter didn’t miss the way her shoulders straightened under Richard’s attention.

Richard’s gaze shifted to Peter.

"Peter," he greeted, offering a firm handshake. His grip was steady, self-assured. Controlled.

Peter matched it, or at least tried to.

A soft click of heels echoed from inside.

Evelyn appeared beside Richard, her figure wrapped in a deep burgundy dress that hugged every curve. The material clung just enough to hint at what lay beneath—smooth nylon tracing the length of her legs, disappearing under the fabric.

Peter barely noticed the way she smiled at Claudia.

Because something else caught his attention.

Just beneath the fabric, in the low evening light, he saw them—small, faint dimples along her upper thighs.

Stockings.

Garter belt.

Peter swallowed.

Then his gaze dropped lower—to the sharp, elegant heels on Evelyn’s feet.

His breath hitched.

Evelyn’s voice cut through his thoughts.

"I’m so glad you both could make it."

She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Claudia’s cheek before turning her attention to Peter.

"You look handsome," she said, her fingers brushing lightly over his wrist—barely a touch, but enough for him to notice.

Peter forced a small smile, but his mind was still on the padlocks.

Still on the dimples beneath her dress.

Still on the feeling that tonight was about more than just dinner.

Richard stepped aside, gesturing them in.

"Come in," he said, his voice smooth as ever.

"We’ve been expecting you."

The air inside was warm, scented with hints of aged wood, spice, and something subtle yet decadent—like slow-burning vanilla.

The lighting was lower than Peter expected, the kind that made everything feel closer, more intimate.

This wasn’t the kind of dinner where people sat in separate corners, making idle conversation across a long table.

No, this was something different.

Something deliberate.

Richard led them toward a sitting area near the fireplace, where a selection of drinks and crystal glasses sat waiting on a sleek, dark-wood bar cart.

“Whiskey?” Richard asked, already reaching for a bottle. Not really a question.

Peter hesitated for a fraction of a second.

Then nodded. “Sure.”

Richard smirked slightly, as if he’d already known the answer, pouring two glasses with practiced ease.

Peter took the glass when offered, his fingers briefly brushing Richard’s. The weight of it felt heavier than it should have.

Claudia settled onto one of the plush, curved sofas, her skirt sliding smoothly over her thighs as she crossed her legs.

Evelyn moved effortlessly beside her, reaching for a bottle of deep red wine, pouring two glasses without asking.

As she handed one to Claudia, she murmured, “You strike me as a red wine woman.”

Claudia blinked at her, then let out a soft, breathless laugh. “I suppose I am.”

Evelyn smiled, settling beside her. “Good.”

Peter took a slow sip of his whiskey, eyes flicking between them.

The conversation started lightly—work, travel, indulgences, the boutique.

But Peter could feel the undercurrent of something else.

A slow, unspoken shift.

Every glance, every comment, every slight turn of attention dictated the flow of things.

And Claudia?

She was responding.

Peter saw it in the way she leaned in, in the way she let her fingers rest lightly around the stem of her wine glass, as if waiting.

Waiting for what?

Peter swallowed, shifting in his seat.

A quiet chuckle came from beside him.

Richard, watching him.

Not obviously. Not aggressively.

But watching.

The glass felt heavier in Peter’s hand.

And he knew.

The night hadn’t even begun.

And already, he was exactly where Richard wanted him to be.

Peter barely had time to process the atmosphere before Richard moved.

It wasn’t a command, wasn’t even a direct invitation.

But when Richard stood, whiskey glass in hand, and nodded toward the sleek bar in the adjacent room, Peter knew.

Follow.

He hesitated only for a second before standing, his own glass cooling against his palm.

Claudia barely noticed—Evelyn had her full attention now, their quiet voices slipping into something smoother, more intimate.

Peter’s stomach twisted, though he wasn’t sure why.

Peter followed Richard into a more secluded part of the estate, the rich scent of polished wood and aged whiskey thick in the air. The low lighting cast long shadows across the sleek bar, the amber glow of the bottles reflecting in dark glass.

Richard moved with effortless ease, pouring himself another drink before wordlessly lifting the bottle toward Peter.

Peter hesitated only a second before nodding, and the smooth sound of whiskey filling his glass felt heavier than it should have.

The weight of the evening pressed down on him, subtle yet undeniable.

Richard leaned against the bar, one hand wrapped around his glass, watching Peter with the kind of gaze that made it impossible to hide anything.

“I have to say,” Richard murmured, his voice smooth, “you handled yourself well at the party.”

Peter exhaled, rolling his shoulders slightly, trying to seem unbothered. “Thanks.”

A slow pause.

Then, Richard tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Was it difficult?”

Peter frowned slightly. “What?”

Richard took a slow sip before answering. “Watching her.”

Peter’s stomach twisted.

His fingers curled tighter around his glass. His first instinct was to deflect, to pretend that the question was ridiculous, unnecessary. But something in Richard’s voice—something patient, deliberate—made denial feel useless.

He swallowed, keeping his voice as even as possible. “It was… different.”

Richard’s lips curved just slightly, as if that answer was exactly what he had expected.

“Of course it was,” he murmured.

He let the silence stretch between them, swirling the whiskey in his glass, the golden liquid catching the light.

Then:

“You know,” Richard said, tilting his head slightly, “most men lie to themselves about what they feel in moments like that.”

Peter’s pulse kicked up.

Richard’s voice remained calm, but there was an edge beneath it now, something sharper, something certain.

“Most men convince themselves that relationships are meant to stay the same,” he continued, his tone smooth but weighted. “That excitement, desire… control… should belong to them alone.”

Peter’s jaw tensed slightly.

Richard hummed. “But time… does things. Doesn’t it?”

Peter exhaled slowly, not answering.

Because what was he supposed to say? That he hadn’t felt something? That he hadn’t seen something in Claudia that night?

Richard took another slow sip of whiskey, then set the glass down with deliberate ease.

“You and Claudia have been together a long time.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

Peter hesitated before nodding. “Ten years.”

Richard exhaled through his nose, like a man who had already calculated the answer before hearing it aloud.

“A decade,” he mused. “Long enough for habits to settle. For rhythms to form.”

Then, his gaze flicked back to Peter’s, sharp and unwavering.

“Long enough,” he said smoothly, “for a woman like Claudia to start wondering… what it would feel like to be led by a different hand.”

Peter’s chest went tight.

A slow, burning heat curled in his stomach, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral.

Richard watched him, his presence coiled like a cat that already knew the mouse wasn’t going anywhere.

“She carries herself differently now, doesn’t she?” Richard asked, voice light, almost conversational. “It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

Peter swallowed, his throat dry.

Because he had noticed.

Richard smirked, watching him carefully. “More confidence. More certainty.”

Then, his voice dipped lower—not a whisper, but something meant to be remembered.

“More awareness… of what it feels like to be wanted by another man.”

Peter’s fingers clenched around his glass, the ice shifting in the whiskey.

He hated the way the words hit him.

Hated that they rang true.

“She’s always been beautiful,” Richard continued, as if testing how much Peter could take, “but lately… she’s been something else, hasn’t she?”

He swirled his drink, watching Peter from beneath hooded eyes.

“She’s been curious.”

A slow sip.

“Receptive.”

The words settled heavily in Peter’s stomach, and he knew—he’d hear them again later, echoing in his head when he was alone.

Richard’s gaze flicked to him, measured, controlled. “And I think you like it.”

Peter’s breath caught.

His chest was tight, his pulse too loud in his ears, but he couldn’t deny it.

Not completely.

Because it wasn’t just Claudia who had changed.

It was him, too.

Richard let the moment stretch before exhaling lightly, reaching for the whiskey bottle again.

“You felt it, didn’t you?” Richard asked, voice almost amused. “That shift. That… difference.”

Peter didn’t answer.

Because the truth was, he had.

Richard’s smirk widened just slightly, as if he had all the confirmation he needed.

Then, as he poured another measure of whiskey, his voice dropped lower—calm, certain, undeniable.

“I could give you more of that feeling.”

Peter’s stomach flipped.

He looked up, pulse hammering, but Richard’s expression was unreadable.

“If you wanted it,” Richard continued smoothly. “If you both let yourselves have it.”

A slow pause.

Then, his next words sent a slow, simmering ache through Peter’s chest.

“If you let yourselves be guided.”

Peter’s breath shuddered slightly.

Richard took another sip, gaze never leaving him.

“Think about it.”

And just like that, he set his glass down, as if the conversation was already over.

As if the choice had already been made.

Peter exhaled shakily, the warmth of the whiskey doing nothing to settle the heat twisting inside him.

Because Richard’s words weren’t going anywhere.

And he knew—they’d be waiting for him later, when he was alone with Claudia.

The dining room was bathed in warm, golden candlelight, the air rich with the scent of seasoned meats, aged wine, and something else—something unspoken but undeniably present. The table was set for four, yet as they took their seats, Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that the arrangements had been intentional.

Claudia was led, almost naturally, to the seat beside Richard.

Peter, meanwhile, found himself seated across from them. Opposite Claudia, not beside her.

A small thing. A meaningless detail, in theory.

And yet, as he sank into his chair, he already felt the quiet imbalance.

Evelyn was the last to take her seat. But it was the way she sat that made Peter’s breath hitch.

She moved slowly, deliberately, gathering the fabric of her dress in careful hands—lifting the hem just enough. Not enough to be obvious, not enough to seem inappropriate. But enough for Peter to see.

Bare skin against the black leather of the heavy chair.

The contact was immediate, the soft curve of her thighs pressing into the cool surface.

Peter barely noticed himself breathing, but his gaze flickered downward—just for a second.

And he saw it.

The subtle, elegant tension of a garter strap disappearing beneath the fabric.

It was only a glimpse—a fleeting moment before she smoothed the dress back into place, letting it drape around her legs. But something else caught his attention.

She didn’t cross them.

Instead, Evelyn’s knees remained slightly parted—not wide, not exaggerated, but enough to be… noticeable. Enough to be intentional.

Peter swallowed, shifting slightly.

And then, across the table, Richard exhaled lightly through his nose.

Peter’s eyes snapped up.

Richard was looking at him.

And, just as Peter was about to look away, pretending he had seen nothing, Richard spoke.

His voice was calm. Measured. Casual, yet absolute.

“It’s a rule,” he said simply.

Peter blinked. “What?”

Richard leaned back slightly, rolling the stem of his wine glass between two fingers.

“Evelyn,” he murmured, his gaze flicking briefly toward her before returning to Peter and Claudia, “sits like this every time.”

His voice never wavered.

“She knows,” he continued, taking a slow sip of wine, “that when she sits, she must feel the surface beneath her. That her posture must be open. That she is always—always—available to me.”

Peter felt the air shift, the words settling deep into his stomach.

His fingers tightened subtly around his glass.

Evelyn, for her part, remained completely still. She didn’t react. 

Richard’s gaze flicked toward Claudia now, assessing her reaction.

Peter turned his head, too.

Claudia’s lips were slightly parted, her breathing just a fraction deeper than before. She didn’t say anything at first, but Peter knew that look. She was processing.

She was imagining.

Richard smirked slightly, as if he could read every thought passing through her mind.

“It’s a small thing,” he murmured. “But small things matter.”

A pause.

Then, he reached for his wine again, taking another slow sip, leaving his next words hanging in the air like an invitation neither of them had asked for.

“Discipline shapes a woman in ways she never expects.”

Peter’s stomach tightened.

Evelyn remained still. Waiting.

And Richard?

He had already moved on.

Because, as far as he was concerned… the lesson had already been taught.

The wine flowed smoothly, the rich scent of seasoned dishes mingling with the low hum of conversation. The candlelight flickered against the polished wood of the dining table, casting soft shadows that stretched and shifted with every small movement. The night had taken its time unfolding, but now, the atmosphere was charged—not with forced tension, but with something deeper.

Something inevitable.

Peter felt it in the way Claudia sat slightly closer to Richard than before, in the way Evelyn’s posture remained effortlessly poised, her legs still slightly parted beneath the table. He felt it in the way Richard controlled the pace of the evening, his words landing like slow, deliberate footprints on a path neither Peter nor Claudia had realized they were already walking.

And then Richard leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping once against the base of his wine glass before lifting his gaze.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice smooth, certain. “We should talk about where this is going.”

The air shifted.

Peter felt his stomach tighten. Claudia inhaled softly beside him.

Evelyn, sipping her wine, said nothing.

Richard’s gaze moved between them, assessing their reactions. He took his time, giving them the opportunity to stop him—but neither of them spoke.

So he continued.

“You both strike me as people who like to explore,” he mused, swirling the deep red liquid in his glass. “You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Peter’s throat felt dry. “We—”

Richard lifted a hand, cutting him off with nothing more than a quiet, effortless command.

“Let me finish.”

Peter froze.

His lips pressed together, pulse kicking up.

Richard’s smirk was almost imperceptible. Almost.

He set his glass down gently. “There are couples who let time dictate the way they evolve. And then there are couples who take control of it. Who decide how far they want to push their boundaries.”

His fingers tapped against the tabletop, slow and thoughtful.

“You already know which kind you are.”

Claudia’s breath hitched.

Richard exhaled lightly, rolling his shoulders. “The way I see it, you’re both curious. That’s good. That’s necessary. But curiosity alone isn’t enough.”

He turned his gaze toward Peter.

“This requires acceptance,” he said smoothly. “From both of you. Not just from her.”

Peter’s jaw tightened. He hated how much his stomach twisted at those words.

Richard didn’t let up.

“You’ve seen the way she responds to me.”

The words were simple, direct. Undeniable.

Claudia shifted slightly, her thighs pressing together under the table.

Richard caught it.

Peter saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes before he turned his attention back to Claudia.

“And you’ve felt it, haven’t you?” Richard asked, voice lower now, the edge of command slipping into it like silk. “The way it feels to be… guided.”

Claudia’s fingers curled subtly against her lap.

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

Richard let the moment stretch, then leaned back. Casual. Unbothered. In control.

“I could help you,” he mused. “If you wanted it.”

Peter’s pulse slammed in his ears.

Claudia parted her lips slightly, but no words came out.

Richard exhaled, as if this was all so incredibly simple.

“If you let me, I could show you both a different way of looking at your relationship,” he continued, rolling his glass between his fingers. “One where you don’t have to rely on routine to feel fulfilled.”

Peter’s grip tightened around his glass.

Richard tilted his head slightly. “But that’s not something you jump into. It’s something you… build.”

His eyes flicked between them.

“And that starts with trust.”

Claudia exhaled shakily. Peter stayed silent.

Richard smirked. “So, I have a proposal.”

The air stopped moving.

Claudia swallowed. Peter sat too still.

Richard let them sit in the quiet before he spoke again.

“You don’t have to decide anything tonight. That would be unfair.”

His smirk deepened slightly.

“But I think we both know what you want to explore.”

Peter’s stomach tightened painfully.

Richard leaned forward slightly, his gaze pinning them in place.

“So,” he murmured, “why don’t we start small?”

Claudia’s breath caught.

Peter’s fingers itched to grip something.

Richard let the moment stretch, thicken, coil.

“Some simple exercises,” he continued smoothly, his voice silken but firm, as if he were discussing something as casual as a business strategy. “Tests. Ways for you both to get comfortable with the idea of shifting control. To see if you can handle what comes next.”

Peter felt his heart pounding.

Claudia wasn’t blinking.

Evelyn smiled behind her wine glass.

And then Richard asked the question that would change everything.

“Are you willing to try?”

Silence.

Thick, suffocating silence.

Peter’s pulse roared in his ears.

Claudia licked her lips, uncertain but undeniably intrigued.

And Richard?

Richard just waited.

Because he already knew the answer.

Even if they didn’t.

Not yet.

The silence at the table stretched longer than it should have.

Peter felt every second of it pressing against his chest, thick and suffocating. Claudia had barely moved, her fingers resting lightly against the base of her wine glass, but Peter could see it—the way her breath had deepened, the way her thighs had pressed just a little closer together.

Evelyn, for her part, was watching with quiet amusement, letting the moment settle.

Richard just waited.

He wasn’t impatient. He wasn’t pushing.

Because he didn’t need to.

“I’m not asking for an answer tonight,” he continued, as if the choice was already made. “You need time to think. To consider what you want.”

A pause.

Then, Richard’s gaze flicked to Claudia.

Held her there.

“But,” he said smoothly, “a decision isn’t real until it’s tested.”

Claudia’s breath hitched.

Peter swallowed. “What do you mean?”

Richard exhaled lightly, rolling his shoulders. “I don’t expect you to jump into this without understanding it,” he said. “That wouldn’t be fair. You should know how it feels to take a step before you decide if you want to walk the entire path.”

He lifted his glass again, taking another slow sip.

“So let’s start with something small,” he murmured. “A challenge.”

Peter’s stomach tightened.

Claudia’s fingers curled slightly around her wine glass.

Evelyn smiled, setting her glass down and tilting her head slightly toward Richard, as if she already knew what was coming.

Richard glanced at her briefly, then turned his attention back to Peter and Claudia.

“A simple rule,” he continued, his voice light, but carrying weight.

A slow pause.

Then:

"For one week, Peter, you won’t see Claudia naked."

Silence.

Peter blinked. "Excuse me?"

Richard exhaled lightly. "You heard me."

Peter scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s ridiculous."

Richard tilted his head. "Is it?" His voice was smooth, effortless. "You say that, but I wonder—when was the last time you had to hold yourself back? When was the last time you were denied her?"

Peter’s throat tightened. "That’s not the point."

Richard smirked. "No, Peter. That is exactly the point."

Peter shifted in his seat, his grip tightening around his drink. "So what? You expect me to just look away for a week? Ignore her when she’s changing? When she’s—"

"Exactly," Richard interrupted smoothly. "She’ll undress as she always does. Shower as she always does. Sleep beside you as she always does."

His gaze flicked to Claudia. "But if you accept this challenge, Peter… you don’t get to look."

Peter exhaled, tension settling deep in his chest. He could feel Claudia’s eyes on him, waiting. Watching.

Then Richard turned, his gaze settling fully on Claudia. "What I want to know is… do you want this?"

Peter turned to her, expecting hesitation. Expecting doubt.

But he saw something else.

Claudia’s fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her glass. Her chest rose with a slow inhale, not anxious—anticipating.

She bit her lip. Just slightly.

Peter’s stomach twisted.

She was considering it. And worse—she liked it.

Her fingers smoothed absently over the silk of her blouse, as if testing the fabric against her skin. Then, finally—she lifted her gaze to Richard.

"I think…" A soft exhale. "I think I’d like to try."

Peter barely suppressed a curse.

Richard smiled.

Peter clenched his jaw. "You can’t be serious."

Richard sat back, satisfied. "There’s your answer."

A slow silence stretched between them.

Then, with devastating ease, Richard continued: "And if Peter slips… if he looks… you’ll tell me."

Peter sat up straighter. "Excuse me?"

Richard ignored him. "If he fails, you’ll tell me." His voice dropped, almost amused. "And I’ll decide what happens then."

Peter’s pulse spiked.

Then, slowly—she nodded.

Peter exhaled sharply, his chest tightening.

Richard’s smirk was subtle. "Good girl."

Peter tensed at the words, but Claudia didn’t flinch.

She just sat there, still, composed. But Peter noticed the way her breathing had changed.

Peter’s hands curled into fists beneath the table.

Richard leaned back, satisfied. "One week. No exceptions. No excuses." His lips curled. "Unless, of course… you’d rather admit that you never had control in the first place?"

The words hit Peter like a punch to the ribs.

He exhaled, about to argue—but then Claudia moved.

Not much.

Just enough to lift her wine glass.

Just enough to clink it softly against Richard’s.

Peter went rigid.

Richard smiled as he met her toast. "To discipline."

Claudia held his gaze for a moment longer.

Then—she drank.

Peter swallowed hard, his throat tight.

He felt it in his bones.

He wasn’t just losing. He’d already lost.

The night air was warm as Peter and Claudia stepped onto the front terrace of Richard and Evelyn’s estate. 

Richard stood before them, his presence unshaken, unhurried. He didn’t reiterate his expectations. He didn’t need to. The rule had been spoken, and now, it was simply waiting to be followed.

Evelyn was the one who finally broke the silence.

“I do hope you’ll take this seriously,” she murmured, her eyes drifting lazily between Claudia and Peter. “It’s such a… simple thing.”

Peter forced a tight smile, his jaw stiff. “Yeah.”

Richard exhaled lightly, watching him with knowing amusement. “Simple things tend to be the hardest.”

Claudia shifted slightly, her fingers brushing against her dress. Peter noticed, then realized—she wasn’t reaching for him.

She was standing closer to Richard than to him.

His stomach tightened.

Richard smirked, catching the flicker of unease. He reached for his glass, taking a slow sip before setting it down with deliberate ease.

“Well,” he said smoothly, as if none of this was a challenge at all, “enjoy your evening. I’ll be interested to hear how the first few days go.”

Claudia inhaled softly.

Peter swallowed.

Claudia felt the heat of those words spread through her body.

Peter felt the weight of them settle in his chest.

And then, they left.