Time moved forward and the weeks became a cruel routine. Every seven days, like clockwork, Mrs. Prim and Sergeant Strapforth arrived at Marcus’s home for their check-in. Every seven days, Candy was expected to be compliant, polite, and well-trained. Every seven days, she had to smile through gritted teeth and pretend she was becoming the obedient wife Paddlewick wanted her to be.

  She hated it. She hated them. She hated how easily they bought the act. And today was no different. A sharp knock at the door. Marcus sighed, stood, and opened it.

  "Good afternoon, Mr. Elwood," Mrs. Prim said primly, stepping inside. Sergeant Strapforth followed, as looming and joyless as ever. Candy, already seated with perfect posture and a sweet, empty expression, folded her hands in her p."Good afternoon, ma’am. Sir," she greeted, lowering her gaze just enough to appear demure.

  Mrs. Prim beamed.

  "Ah, much improved. Do you see, Sergeant? She is learning."

  Sergeant Strapforth grunted in approval. "About time." Candy wanted to vomit.

  Mrs. Prim settled onto the couch, pulling out her ever-present ledger, flipping to Candy’s report page.

  "Let’s begin, shall we?" she said sweetly.

  Marcus sat beside Candy, his expression carefully neutral. Candy kept her posture perfect. She had to.

  "First, speech and address." Mrs. Prim tapped her quill against the paper. "Candy, how do you address your husband?"

  Candy hated this part the most. She forced herself to gnce at Marcus, keeping her expression soft, deferential.

  "I call him Husband or Sir as is proper."

  "And do you challenge his authority?"

  Candy’s teeth clenched behind her lips.

  "No, ma’am."

  Mrs. Prim beamed, making a neat checkmark in her book.

  "Very good."

  Sergeant Strapforth grunted again.

  "Has she required correction this week?" Marcus paused. Candy held her breath. Finally, Marcus cleared his throat.

  "No, but she has received maintenance as required."

  Mrs. Prim nodded approvingly.

  "And did she accept her maintenance with grace?"

  Candy wanted to ugh. Instead, she folded her hands tighter and murmured, "Yes, ma’am."

  "And afterward?"

  Candy’s stomach turned.

  "I thanked my husband for maintaining me."

  Mrs. Prim smiled, satisfied. Sergeant Strapforth gave a grunt of approval.

  "Good," he said, expression unreadable. Marcus looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and die. Candy didn’t look at him. She just kept pying the part.

  Mrs. Prim tapped her quill again.

  "A final demonstration," she said.

  Candy’s stomach dropped.

  "Stand beside your husband, Candy."

  Candy rose, smoothing down her skirts.

  "Now," Mrs. Prim’s eyes sharpened, "Kneel before him."

  Candy’s breath hitched. Her fingers curled into her dress. Marcus stiffened beside her.

  "Is this necessary?" he asked.

  Mrs. Prim gnced up, mildly amused.

  "A wife must show proper deference to her husband," she said. "It is a simple act of respect. Surely, she is not resistant?"

  Marcus’s jaw clenched. Candy closed her eyes for half a second, swallowed her rage, and kneeled. The floor was cold against her skin. Her back was straight, her hands resting lightly in her p,expression calm. Because that was what they wanted to see.

  "Much improved," Mrs. Prim said warmly.

  Sergeant Strapforth nodded.

  "I expect to see this level of obedience at all times," he said. "A husband should not have to fight to receive respect from his wife." Candy bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood.

  Mrs. Prim finished her notes, nodding in approval.

  "I believe we can say your wife is making true progress, Mr. Elwood."

  Marcus said nothing.

  "But she has a way to go still."

  Candy’s breath stilled.

  "More discipline will still be required in the coming weeks," Mrs. Prim continued, folding her hands primly. "Perhaps next week we will have her demonstrate a public correction. Such acts do wonders in reinforcing obedience."

  Marcus’s face went pale.

  Candy’s stomach dropped.

  “I don’t understand,” Marcus said. “If she’s done nothing wrong what is there to correct?”

  "A turn of phrase," said Mrs. Prim. "A husband can always give extra maintenance if deemed necessary. At any rate, we will return next week," Mrs. Prim said.

  Sergeant Strapforth gave Marcus a firm handshake and turned to Candy.

  "Be good, girl."

  Candy forced a smile.

  "Yes, sir." The door closed and with that, they were gone.

  The house was silent. Candy stayed kneeling on the floor, frozen in pce, still pying the role. Her breath was shallow. Her fingers shook. Then…

  "Candy." Marcus’s voice was low, quiet.

  She slowly, slowly rose to her feet. Then, with a trembling exhale, she turned to him and spped him across the face. Marcus staggered back slightly, stunned.

  “Candy what the hell! I thought we were in a good pce now. A sp? Really?”

  Candy shook with rage. He should have fought, should have questioned the demand for public correction more. He’d barely said anything.

  "Don’t ever let them do that to me again," she whispered, voice sharp and furious.

  Marcus swallowed.

  "Candy, I—"

  "I mean it, Marcus!" Her chest heaved, her throat tight, her nails digging into her palms.

  "If you let them put me over that bench next week, I swear to the gods…" Her voice broke. Marcus watched her for a long, pained moment. Then, finally, he nodded.

  "I won’t."

  She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust anyone. But for now, all she had was his word, and she had to hope it was enough. She turned to storm out of the room and stopped at the door.

  “Yeah, it was a sp,” she said. “I’m a gods damn woman now, and women sp. All the romance novels say it’s the thing to do.”

  “You read romance novels now?” Marcus questioned, still hold the side of his face.

  “No!” she yelled as she left, “But it's on a lot of the covers!”

  Marcus sat there stunned. The inspection, the sp, the romance novel covers. Why would they put that on the cover? And how the hell was that a draw?

  Later that night, after Candy had gone to bed, Marcus did what he did best. He poured through the ws, the marriage handbook, and the pile of pamphlets that had been shoved upon them. About 2 in the morning, he found it. “Ah... there we go,” he said to himself, smiling.