The Wife's First Lesson

Aria~

Ice-cold water slammed my face, yanking me from exhausted sleep. I jolted upright, gasping, sheets drenched, hair dripping down my neck. Damien loomed over the bed, empty glass dangling from his fingers, his face twisted in pure disgust.

"Jesus Christ, Aria—it's 8 AM already! What kind of new bride sleeps till noon like some lazy whore? This isn't your daddy's pathetic little house anymore. Get your ass up!"

I choked on water and tears, wiping my face with shaking hands. "Damien, please—I barely slept at all last night. I just kept thinking... how am I supposed to survive this marriage? How does any of this even work when you hate me this much?" The truth poured out raw I'd sobbed till my eyes burned, imagining endless days of his cruelty carving me hollow.

He laughed, a cold, hollow sound that made my stomach drop. "Oh, poor little baby, crying over her new reality? Let me give you your first lesson since you're clearly too stupid to figure it out. You want to be the perfect wife? Then you run this entire house from top to bottom. Breakfast on the table by 8 AM sharp every single morning. The maids answer to you but if you screw up even once, they're gone, and your pathetic family pays the price. House spotless, me satisfied, or everyone you love suffers. Do you understand me?"

I nodded frantically, teeth chattering from the cold water soaking through. "Y-yes, Damien, I understand. I'll learn everything, I promise just please don't—"

"Shut your whining mouth." He yanked a stiff gray dress from the closet and threw it at my wet chest it hit with a heavy thud. "Put this on. Get to the kitchen. Now. And that breakfast better actually impress me, or you can starve for all I care."

The dress clung to my wet skin, zipper digging into my ribs as I scrambled into it, tears blurring my vision. One morning. Already shattered. How much worse can day two possibly get?

Downstairs, the kitchen gleamed like a sterile prison marble counters, endless copper pots hanging like weapons. An older maid turned from the stove, gray streaks in her tight bun, kind eyes crinkling with concern. "Mrs. Blackwood? I'm Martha. Do you need any help with breakfast this morning, or—"

I forced a wobbly smile, wiping my tear-streaked cheeks. "No, Martha, thank you so much but Mr. Blackwood specifically told me I have to make breakfast myself today. Could you just tell me... what exactly does he like? I've never cooked for him before."

She hesitated, her voice dropping soft and careful. "He prefers his eggs sunny-side up with the yolks still runny, bacon extra crisp but not burned, and his coffee completely black and very strong. But ma'am, please be careful he's been in an awful mood all morning already and..."

Heavy footsteps thundered behind us. Damien stormed into the kitchen, his face darkening with rage. "What the hell is this? I specifically told you she makes breakfast today, Martha get the fuck out of my kitchen right now!"

Martha flinched hard, practically bowing as she hurried out. He whirled on me, his voice dripping pure venom. "Can't even follow one simple goddamn order on your first morning? I can already smell the bacon burning from here, you incompetent little bitch. You're useless just like your runaway slut of a sister."

"Damien, I'm really trying my best," I whispered, my hands shaking violently as I cracked eggs into the sizzling pan. "The stove here is completely different from what I'm used to the heat is way too high and I don't know how to control it yet, please just give me a minute..."

"Excuses, excuses always fucking excuses!" He snatched the spatula from my hand and slammed it down on the counter so hard the eggs jumped. "You're so goddamn pathetic you might actually burn this entire house down. Then you'll come crying to me when I throw your entire worthless family out on the street where they belong."

Somehow I managed to plate it eggs wobbly and half-broken, bacon slightly soft instead of crisp, toast uneven and cold. I set it trembling in front of him at the breakfast table. He stabbed a huge forkful of eggs, chewed exactly once then CRASH. The plate flew from his hand, shattering against the wall behind me, food splattering across my dress and the floor.

"Are you fucking kidding me? This tastes like street dog shit! You call this breakfast? This is an insult not just to my taste, but to my entire goddamn existence!" He leaned forward, eyes blazing. "You're a joke, Aria. A cheap cook, a cheap wife, a cheap fucking everything. No one could do worse than you."

Sobs choked my throat as I stood there dripping with egg yolk. "Damien, I'm so sorry! I'll learn, I swear on everything please don't tell my family about this, please don't hurt them over my mistake!"

"Eat your failure then." He shoved the spilled plate toward me with the toe of his polished shoe. "Clean every single speck off my floor. Then make real food that doesn't taste like vomit. Don't fuck it up twice."

He stalked out, leaving his coffee untouched. Martha peeked back around the corner, her face etched with sadness. "Ma'am..."

I dropped to my knees, scrubbing yolk and shattered porcelain through hot tears. "It's fine, Martha. I completely deserved every word of it." How do I possibly survive this man? Every single bite he takes from my hands could destroy everyone I love. One plate of eggs, and I'm less than nothing.

Martha knelt beside me, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's always this vicious during the first year, Mrs. Blackwood. Some wives don't make it through. Just... try to survive him."

I looked up at her through blurred vision, shards of my broken plate gleaming wet on the floor. Survive? When heavy footsteps pounded back down the stairs and Damien's shout echoed through the house—"Get your ass up here right now! Your real punishment starts immediately!"—I realized surviving his hatred might break me worse than death itself.

Tears still streaming, I stumbled upstairs, each step heavier than the last, the gray dress sticking to my egg-splattered skin. I pushed open the bedroom door where he'd summoned me, expecting maybe a belt or his fists... but what I saw made my eyes bulge wide, jaw dropping, breath catching in pure shock. My heart stopped dead.