Marcus barely slept that night. He y awake, staring at the ceiling, guilt and frustration gnawing at his insides. Candy had barely spoken after… everything. She had gone to bed silently, her movements mechanical, her expression bnk in a way that unsettled him. And for the first time since this nightmare began, Marcus was genuinely afraid for her.

  She needed something. Some kind of hope, some small mercy, some reason to get up in the morning. Because if she lost that—if she lost herself completely—he didn’t know if he could pull her back. So he y there in the dark, thinking.

  What could she possibly look forward to?

  Not freedom.Not escaping the rules.Not a way out.

  But maybe... His eyes suddenly widened. Of course! The women’s bathhouse!

  The Proposal

  Marcus waited until mid-morning to bring it up. Candy sat at the table, picking at breakfast without interest, her face exhausted and drawn.

  “I had a thought,” he said.

  Candy barely gnced up. “Congratutions.”

  Marcus sighed. “I know things are… bad.”

  Candy snorted, but said nothing.

  “But,” he continued, “there is one upside to this whole situation.”

  That got her attention—if only a little. She lifted an eyebrow, skeptical. “Oh?”

  “You can go to the women’s bathhouse now.”

  Candy blinked. “The bathhouse.”

  “The women’s bathhouse,” he crified. “Hot springs, steam rooms, massage stones, vender and vanil in the air—”

  Her expression didn’t change.

  Marcus took a risk. “And, you know… a whole lot of half-naked women lounging around.”

  Candy stilled.

  He pressed on. “Could be something, at least.”

  Candy stared at him for a long, long moment. Then, to his relief, she let out a slow exhale and rubbed her temples.

  “Marcus.”

  “Yeah?”

  “This is the first time since this whole nightmare started that I don’t immediately want to punch you in the face.”

  Marcus smirked. “That’s progress.”

  Candy snorted, shaking her head. For the first time in weeks, there was a flicker of something in her eyes that wasn’t pure misery.

  And Marcus, for once, felt like he had done something right.

  The Realization

  Not long after Candy agreed to go, a new and entirely different anxiety settled in her chest.

  “I’ll need something that covers me. Something with a skirt,” Candy continued, cheeks flushed. “Something secure. I am not fshing half my incomplete body to every noble wife in Paddlewick.”

  “That’s fair,” Marcus said, nodding carefully.

  Candy turned to him. “So where do I buy a bathing suit?”

  “There’s a swimwear shop next to the bathhouse, I’m sure they’ll have everything you’ll need.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’ll work,” Candy said, pleased something was easy for a change.

  A few minutes ter and she was half way out the door before she realized, she had no money. She hadn’t thought about it since being forced to move in with Marcus. So she asked him, where’d my money get moved to?

  He winced.

  “Oh no,” Candy said ftly. “Don’t you dare say it.”

  “It’s just, technically, wives can own money,” Marcus expined, choosing his words like walking on gss. “But it’s meant to be... overseen. Managed. By the husband.”

  Candy stared at him. “You’re telling me I need permission to buy a bathing suit?”

  “I didn’t write the ws,” he muttered.

  She paced a slow circle around the rug. “Can I work?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’d be paid...?”

  “Legally, the income would be yours. But yes, I’d be expected to oversee how you spent it.”

  Candy groaned. “I’m going to need that bathhouse more than I thought.”

  Marcus reached for the household coin pouch. “Most husbands give their wives an allowance. It’s... civilized.”

  Candy took the purse from him without breaking eye contact. “It’s horrifying.”

  “But civilized,” he offered, weakly.

  “Grrrr.”

  The Women’s Bathhouse

  The Bathhouse of Serene Waters was one of Paddlewick’s few genuine luxuries. A sprawling stone-and-marble retreat nestled in the city’s eastern quarter, it was fed by natural hot springs rich with healing minerals. Only wives and women were allowed entrance.

  Which meant that, until now, Candy had never even set foot inside.

  As she stood at the entrance, steam curling through the air and the faint scent of jasmine and vender drifting around her, she let out a long breath. Maybe Marcus had been right. Maybe this was something.

  Candy had always assumed that the things men said about women’s bathhouses were just wishful thinking—fantasies fueled by loneliness and horniness. The stories always sounded like drunken tavern nonsense: nude women everywhere, soft voices echoing off stone, friends washing each other in candlelight, massages that somehow turned romantic...

  And yet, as Candy stepped inside, she realized—some of it was kind of true.

  Not all of it. No one was washing anyone else’s breasts or passionately making out in the mineral pool. But there were definitely topless women lounging on marble benches. Friends were pressed together in the sauna more closely than space required. The air was damp and warm and full of ughter—gentle, honest ughter that hadn’t been filtered through obedience or male approval.

  There were soft curves and confident stances and bodies unapologetically being. Steam curled over bare shoulders, over thighs, over bellies that hadn’t been cinched into corsets in hours. And Candy just stood there, blinking.

  Huh.So some of it was true.

  She slipped out of her robes and corset with a sigh that was half relief, half disbelief. Her body felt lighter without the yers. Freer. She stepped into the pool and sank beneath the water, the heat enveloping her in instant bliss.

  Her muscles loosened, her skin tingled, and for the first time in what felt like forever, her body wasn’t being pulled, pinched, punished, or posed.

  For a brief, glorious moment, she was just a person again.

  Not a wife.Not a prisoner.Just herself.

  She leaned back against the smooth marble edge, watching the women around her. Some chatted zily, their skin glowing in the golden candlelight. Others simply drifted in the warmth, eyes closed, lips parted in wordless relief.

  A few walked slowly by, steam curling around long legs, bare hips, and quiet smiles.

  And Candy thought to herself, for the first time since it all began, “Okay. This doesn’t suck.”

  And then she saw her.

  A woman with astounding curves was reclining in one of the corner pools, water pping just below the generous slope of her chest. Her towel had clearly given up and floated away. Her skin glistened, her posture was rexed, and she ughed, low and musical, as another woman whispered something nearby.

  Candy looked away immediately. Then looked back. Then away again.

  Don’t stare, she told herself. You are not a teenage boy. You are a woman. A legally mandated wife. You do not ogle.

  She inhaled through her nose, focused her gaze on the tilework near the ceiling, and repeated like a mantra: Be cool. Be normal. Look at literally anything else.

  The woman shifted, stretching her arms over her head, and Candy promptly moved herself to the next nearest pool, out of sight of the busty woman, cheeks warm, not from embarrassment, she told herself, but from the steam.

  Well, she’d have to work on how to look at her new peers, discretely. In the meantime, for the first time in weeks, Candy had a genuine moment of peace. She closed her eyes and let her arms float weightlessly. The tension began to melt.

  Maybe she could survive this.

  Maybe she could find little victories in the cracks of the cage.

  Maybe... maybe she could make this life work. The thought terrified her. She didn’t want to become compcent. But for now? For now, she had the bathhouse. And that was enough of a victory for today.