185— Estela POV
I knew something was suspicious.
I tug at the restraints on my wrists—soft silk, tied above my head to the carved bedpost—and glare at my wife, who is humming happily in a robe, digging for something under the bed. Her dark hair is loose, a little wild, damp from our bath.
We came back to the suite after dinner. She'd prepared a luxurious bubble bath for me. Lit candles. Scattered rose petals. The whole romantic scene straight from a movie.
I had been so touched.
My heart was full.
I dozed off in the warm water, completely relaxed.
Next thing I know?
She carried me out—bridal style, no less—dried me carefully, whispering little nothings the whole time. My heart? Melting.
She dressed me in this silky black nightdress that barely covers anything.
And then—then!
She tied my wrists above my head while I was half-asleep.
And now here I am: flat on the massive bed, wrists bound, glaring daggers at my very smug wife.
