The sun had barely risen when the knock came.
Three sharp taps. Precise. Unapologetic.
I sat up, still in yesterday's silence, hair tangled, eyes dry. I hadn't really slept. Not after the night before. My ribs still ached from where the wall had caught me, and my soul felt bruised in ways I couldn't name.
The door creaked open before I could answer.
It was Cassia.
She didn't smile. She didn't have to. Her satisfaction was carved into every step she took into the room.
"Get up," she said, tossing a black folder onto the bed. "Congratulations, little wife. You've been given your first assignment."
I blinked at her. "Assignment?"
She leaned against the dresser like she owned the place—and maybe she did, in every way that mattered.
"Damien thinks it's time you learned your role here. Since you're so eager to be seen, he wants to make sure everyone does." Her lips curled. "You'll be shadowing me. Starting today. And every day after."
My stomach sank.
Cassia was Damien's favorite… whatever she was. Girlfriend. Mistress. Partner in cruelty. And now I was expected to follow her around like a servant?
"What do you mean by shadowing?" I asked, cautiously.
She clapped her hands once, mocking. "Oh, I'm so glad you asked! You'll help with appearances, assist with errands, learn the 'proper etiquette' of being Damien Lancaster's wife—which, in case you haven't noticed, you fail at spectacularly."
I didn't move.
Cassia narrowed her eyes.
"I suggest you put on something decent and meet me downstairs in fifteen. Unless you want me to report that you're already disobeying."
She turned and left, the sound of her heels echoing like a countdown.
Fifteen minutes later, I stepped into the grand foyer dressed in a modest blouse and skirt I'd found in the wardrobe. Nothing too bold. Nothing to stand out. I didn't want attention—not the kind Damien or Cassia gave.
Cassia was already waiting by the door, dressed in white silk, perfect as always. She handed me a clipboard like I was a secretary, not the girl wearing his ring.
"We have errands to run," she said coolly. "You'll carry the bags. Keep your mouth shut. And for God's sake, smile when people look."
She didn't wait for a response. Just walked out like the queen of a kingdom built on glass and lies.
The next few hours were a lesson in humiliation.
She dragged me through high-end boutiques, where she introduced me not as Damien's wife—but as a personal assistant. I stood quietly while she tried on dresses worth more than my father's debts, holding gowns, stilettos, jewelry trays, even her handbag when she handed it over without asking.
Every now and then, one of the shopgirls would glance at me curiously.
Isn't that the girl he married?
Wasn't there a story about the Marshalls?
Cassia noticed, too.
And she leaned in once, whispering just loud enough for them to hear.
"Don't mind her. She's a charity case."
My face burned.
But I said nothing.
By lunchtime, she brought me to an upscale café, where she sat and ordered champagne while I stood beside the table like a statue.
I wasn't invited to sit. I wasn't offered water.
I was invisible.
Until Damien arrived.
He stepped in with that same aura—cold, commanding, cruel. His eyes scanned the café, locking onto me for the briefest second before sliding to Cassia.
"You've trained her well," he said as he sat beside her.
Cassia laughed, tossing her hair. "Oh, I haven't even started."
I felt it then—that low, gnawing burn in my chest. Not anger. Not yet.
Just shame.
And the deeper wound of knowing they enjoyed it.
When the waiter came with menus, Damien passed one to Cassia and none to me.
"She's not eating," he said without glancing in my direction. "She's learning."
And I realized it then—
This wasn't training.
It was control.
My presence wasn't required. It was commanded.
I wasn't being taught how to be a wife.
I was being shown how to disappear.
After the meal, Damien turned to me, finally speaking directly.
"Your new role starts tomorrow," he said.
I blinked. "I thought this was—"
"This?" He smirked. "This was a preview. Tomorrow, you'll be stationed at the main hall during meetings. You'll greet guests when they arrive. Serve tea. Take notes. And you will not speak unless I say so."
"But—" My voice cracked.
He leaned in, his voice a threat wrapped in velvet. "If you embarrass me again, Diana, I'll make you regret ever speaking in my presence."
I didn't respond. I couldn't.
Because deep down, I knew he meant it.
Cassia smiled as if it was the best day of her life.
They left the café together.
I followed behind, three steps too far to be anything but a shadow.
That night, I returned to my room with blisters on my feet and bruises on my pride.
But I didn't cry.
I sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the clipboard still clutched in my hand, and stared at my reflection in the window.
Not weak.
Not anymore.
Because they wanted to break me.
But all they were doing was sharpening the pieces.