He wanted her scared. He wanted her desperate. He wanted her begging. Her on the floor, knees spread, dress pushed up, legs trembling while he loomed over her. Tears in her eyes as she whimpered his name. His hand tangled in her hair, forcing her to stay still while he... Those delicate legs? Made to be opened by him. His hands. His mouth. His torment. His bliss. He'd keep her in silk gowns and lock every door. He'd feed her, bathe her, cradle her... And then bend her over and breed her again.-her beneath him, crying out his name as he forced her open, spilling himself so deep inside her that her body would never forget. Watching his seed drip from her thighs only for him to push it back in, growling that it belonged to him. He imagined her swollen with his child, belly soft and round, marked by his hands, his teeth, his scent. Everyone would know and see it. She is his muse, his heaven and he is her cage. :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: Primrose was meant to bloom. Instead, she was plucked-young, unripe, and fed to a world that devours girls whole. In a time where men held every law, every title, and every key, sixteen-year-old Primrose Everdell becomes the price of her father's illness. A devoted servant to the powerful family, he is now bedridden, helpless. And when the patriarch offers a "solution"-marriage to their eldest son-Primrose is given no voice. Only silence. Only duty. Her girlhood ends in the bedchambers of Styles Manor, where screams echo down stone halls and no one dares interfere. Her days blur into the quiet horror of submission. Her nights into the claws of a husband she cannot understand - and who does not understand her. . Perhaps she was never meant to be understood, only possessed. Why her? Why must she suffer for the sins of power? Trapped in a world where innocence is currency and silence is survival, Primrose must find meaning in a life written for her by others - or risk losing herself entirely.