Welcome To Hell, Dear Wife-Chapter 75: Test Running

Chapter 75: Test Running
"It’s a slave contract."
The words burst out of Mira before she could stop them, she had tried so hard to keep quiet but her defiance had won yet again.
She slapped her hand against the open folio, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "That’s what this is. You can dress it up in legal language and fancy terminology all you want, but this is literally a document that strips away every ounce of my freedom, it makes no sense, I’m sure it’s not even legal."
Lucas’s expression didn’t change. He simply tilted his head while still wearing that infuriating calm that made her want to scream so bad.
"Were you blind when you signed it?" His tone cut straight through her outrage. "Or just illiterate?"
"That’s not—"
"And how the hell is it even slavery," he continued speaking over her protest, "if it gets you back on your feet and saves your family from complete ruin? Last I checked, slaves don’t get multimillion-dollar career restorations and corporate bailouts, do they?"
Mira’s jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached. "Oh, right," she muttered, unable to keep the bitterness she was feeling from dripping into every syllable. "Because a slavery wrapped in pretty ink and sealed with a little favour suddenly smells like freedom. How silly of me not to see the difference."
"Then you shouldn’t have signed it, how’s that my business?"
The words were simple and delivered with casual indifference. But they landed like a blow.
"True, that’s what I think I had to have been drunk! Or crazy!" Mira shot back, her voice rising despite herself. "Or maybe I was just desperate to not have myself completely destroyed!"
"You already did destroy yourself," Lucas said, and there wasn’t a trace of emotion in his voice. Just cold, hard fact. "I am your rebuild. The question was whether you’re smart enough to take it and you already did, what I don’t understand is why you’re now ruining it again with your own hands. So now, are you planning on maintaining your stupidity still?"
Mira opened her mouth, then closed it again. Because he was right. God help her, he was absolutely right.
She couldn’t out-talk him, couldn’t out-maneuver him, she couldn’t do anything except sit here and face the devastating reality of her situation.
Lucas took another slow step into the room.
"Well?" His voice was soft, almost conversational. "I’m waiting for an answer."
Mira’s mind raced as she frantically calculated the cost of continued defiance versus the humiliation of submission.
She looked at his cold, expectant face and realized with crystal clarity that this wasn’t actually a question. This was her final exam. Fail, and she loses everything. Her family, her future, any chance of survival in this new life and chance she has.
Every curse word, every sarcastic stuff that had been building in her throat died before it could reach her lips. She couldn’t afford them anymore. Not if she wanted to survive. Not if she wanted revenge.
A bitter laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "So what now?" The words came out sharp, edged with mockery even as she felt the fight draining out of her. "Do I ask permission before breathing? Before blinking? Should I submit a written request every time I need to use the bathroom?"
She expected him to get angry or better still snap at her insolence.
Instead, Lucas’s expression remained perfectly neutral. "If it keeps you from saying something stupid," he replied evenly, "yes."
Mira stared at him as if waiting for some sign that he was joking, that this was just part of the psychological game he was playing.
There was none. This motherfucker was completely serious.
"You’re unbelievable," she hissed.
"Am I? Really."
His tone softened slightly, taking on an almost curious quality like he was genuinely fascinated by how far she would go. Like she was an experiment and he was documenting her reactions.
Mira could feel her pride warring with her survival instinct, and for several long seconds, she didn’t know which would win.
Finally, she closed the folio and placed it carefully on the bed beside her, her movements precise and controlled.
"Fine," she said quietly, and even she could hear the defeat creeping into her voice. She executed a small, mocking bow from her seated position. "Can I breathe now, sir?"
"You are already breathing."
"How generous of you." The sarcasm was automatic, a defense mechanism she couldn’t quite turn off.
"Can I blink?" she added with a voice dripping with false sweetness. "Or do I need written permission for that too?"
"You just did that too," Lucas said, his tone completely serious, like he was actually tracking her every movement. "But I guess you’re still learning."
He wasn’t playing along with her sarcasm. He was answering as if these were genuine questions, as if this was a real obedience ritual. And somehow, that made it so much worse. Her mockery was transforming into submission right before her eyes, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop it.
"This isn’t funny," she said, and her voice cracked slightly on the last word.
"You’re right," Lucas murmured, taking another step closer. "It’s not funny. It’s obedience training."
"I’m not a dog."
"Hmm, you’re the one acting like you are tough."
Mira stiffened while feeling her pride crack a little more. Then he moved closer again, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
"Every time you open your mouth," he said softly, "you prove you don’t understand the position you’re in."
"And what position is that?"
"Mine."
Mira’s pulse spiked at that as her heart hammered against her ribs. She couldn’t tell if she wanted to slap him or disappear into the floor.
Both options seemed equally appealing and equally impossible.
He didn’t touch her, nor did he even reach out, he didn’t make any move to close the remaining distance between them. He just stood there, watching her chest rise and fall with her rapid breathing like he had all the time in the world.
"Now, let’s test if you understand your position now," he said finally, his voice dropping even lower, "stand up."
Mira hesitated. It was only for a second, maybe two, but it was too long and they both knew it.
"I said stand up."
Her body moved before her brain fully processed the command. She stood while trying so hard to ignore her shaky legs beneath her, the contract sliding off her lap onto the bed.
"Come here."
Two words. Two simple words that felt so humiliating.
Mira took a step forward. Then another. And another. Until she was standing directly in front of him, so close she feel the heat radiating from his body.
He looked down at her, and she was forced to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. The position itself was a display of dominance with him towering over her, her having to literally look up to him.
"Hands at your sides," he instructed.
She complied as she let her arms drop. Her fingers curled into fists as her nails dug into her palms, but she kept them at her sides like he’d ordered.
"Look at me."
"I am looking at you," she said, unable to keep the anger out of her voice.
"No," he corrected. "You’re glaring. There’s a difference. Look at me the way a wife looks at her husband. With respect. With... affection."
The request
—no, the command—
made her stomach turn. "You want me to fake it?"
"I want you to learn it," he replied. "The faking comes naturally to you, doesn’t it? You’re an actress. So act."
Mira’s jaw clenched. But she tried. She really tried. She softened her gaze, relaxed her features, attempted to arrange her expression into something that could pass as affection.
Lucas’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Better," he said, though the word carried no real praise. "But still wrong. You’re using your PR smile. The one you flash at cameras and fans. That’s not what I asked for."
"Then what do you want?" The frustration bled into her voice despite her best efforts to contain it.
"The one you used when you begged me to for that contract."
Mira froze.
"I..." she started, then stopped. What could she possibly say?
"You don’t remember, do you?" There was something almost curious in his tone now, like he’d just discovered an interesting puzzle piece. "Interesting."
He studied her for a long moment, his gaze so intense she felt like he could see straight through her. Then, just as abruptly as he’d started this whole exercise, he took a step back.
"That’s enough for tonight," he said as his tone shifted back to business-like one. "You’ve proven you can follow simple instructions. Whether you’ll continue to do so is what we shall see."
He turned toward the door, and Mira felt her entire body sag with relief.
His hand was already on the doorknob when he spoke again, casual as usual,it as if commenting on the weather. "You’ll meet your new manager tomorrow morning."
Mira blinked as the words too, a second to register. "My what?"
"Your manager," he repeated, glancing back at her like she was being particularly slow. "You’ll need one to start rebuilding your career."
Her mind was still reeling from the last minutes of psychological warfare. "Who is it?"
Lucas’s hand turned the doorknob, pulling it open and then he glanced over his shoulder.
"Naomi Brooks."
The name hit her like a punch to the gut. All the air left her lungs in a rush.
"You’re joking," she breathed, the words barely audible.
"You’ll find I rarely do." He pulled the door open wider, stepping into the hallway. Then he paused, adding almost lazily, "Try to smile for her tomorrow. I’d hate for you to breach the contract again on your first day of compliance."
The door shut behind him, leaving Mira standing alone in the middle of her room, her mind spinning.
Naomi Brooks? Naomi *fucking* Brooks?
What the fuck? When on earth did she even become a manager?