The canvas is empty, waiting.

The lights are dim in the Atelier, time seems suspended. Paint brushes all over the place, paints all over his apron. He is looking passionate at his old artworks... gently stroking his paint brush on the new canvas trying to find an inspiration.

As he tries to paint, he is unable to think of anything. He is not like how he was before, feeling suffocated by the smells of paint, the sounds of the brush putting him in a tight chokehold. He tears the canvas in anger unable to think of any inspiration and losing all hope in himself, of the rumors about him. The rumors stated in the article "The famous artist Arthur-François Manet is...".

Arthur was working in his atelier as always, then he was suddenly met by a message from his wife stating,

"Dear Arther

How have you been? I was wishing for you to come home as I miss you... for I am waiting for your return with passion and writing you with all this letters which I never got any reply to. I know you are busy with you work in the capital but, I wish for your presence with me here in the dukedom.

I heard of a rumor here among the maids, they were saying you were to not return to me as you don't consider me your wife... it made a little throb in my heart upon hearing it from those maids, but I don't want to believe so... they say that you're in the capital fooling around in the capital as you have never once send a single reply to me since you left the estate for the capital. I don't want to trust their words, but now it is making me uneasy as I saw an article about you.

Is it true you are giving up on me? Am I really not a good Duchess for you to be away from for 3 years now... I never expected you to love me, neither did I ever ask you to love me? For I was only wishing for you to see me capable of being your wife. I know you never loved me ever since we were married not even once, but you could have at least... well it fine now.

I will be waiting for you here for your return, so we can get a divorce since that is all that's left for us to do now.

Your loving wife,

Julia Isabeau-françois Manet. "

Arthur was amused on reading the letter, he saw it coming as he knew very well of his wife. He just never thought of his wife considering a divorce with him. he knew his wife loved him since they were young but he never acknowledge it for his fear of never being able to love her. Yes, he never once love his wife... and also he was fooling in the capital with other women. he knows his wife knew about it but he didn't care of it at all.

The estate came into view, looming like a fortress against the dimming horizon. Arthur’s gaze flicked over its familiar silhouette, but he felt no comfort. The massive stone walls, the manicured grounds—everything was in its place, just as he had left it. Everything but her.

Julia.

The letter she had sent lay crumpled in his pocket, but he didn’t need to read it again to remember her words. She wanted to leave, wanted a divorce. The thought almost made him laugh. As if a few words on parchment could undo everything. As if she could simply walk away.

Arthur shifted in his seat, his fingers drumming against the leather armrest of the carriage. He had never loved her, not really. Love was a foolish concept, a messy, unpredictable emotion that had no place in his life. No, what he had for her was something else—something colder, more precise. She was his. Like a prized painting or a finished sculpture, she was part of the life he had meticulously crafted for himself. He had shaped her, molded her into the perfect reflection of what a duke’s wife should be.

And now she thought she could discard all that. Walk away from the world he had built.

The carriage jolted to a stop at the estate’s entrance. Arthur stepped down, his boots sinking into the gravel path, his eyes scanning the familiar grounds. Everything was just as it should be—except for her.

He entered the estate, the cold echo of his footsteps filling the grand hallway. The air inside was heavy, the kind of silence that usually soothed him after long days in the capital. But tonight, it felt different. Stifling. Because tonight, he wasn’t alone in his domain.

She was waiting for him.

He found her in the drawing room, the light from the setting sun casting her in a dim, golden glow. She was standing by the window, staring out into the gardens, her figure tense, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. For a moment, he watched her, studying her the way he might study a subject before beginning a new painting. There had been a time when he had thought she made the perfect muse—her delicate features, the way she held herself. But that time had passed. Now, she was a problem that needed to be solved.

“Julia.” His voice broke the stillness, and she turned slowly to face him.

“Arthur.” Her tone was flat, her face carefully composed. But he could see the flicker of defiance in her eyes—the defiance she had always tried to hide from him.

He stepped forward, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps. “I read your letter.”

Her hands clenched tighter. “Then you know why I’ve stayed. I want a divorce.”

Arthur let out a short, humorless laugh. “A divorce.” The word felt foreign on his tongue, absurd even. “And what makes you think I’ll agree to that?”

“I’m not asking for your permission.” Her voice was steady, but he could hear the edge of uncertainty behind it. “I won’t stay here. Not anymore.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. “You seem to be under the impression that you have a choice in this.” He stepped closer, his gaze locked on hers. “You don’t.”

She held her ground, though he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her breath quickened just slightly. “Arthur, you can’t keep me here. This marriage—it’s nothing. You don’t even love me.”

“Love?” He nearly laughed again, the word sounding ridiculous to him. “You’re right. I don’t love you. I never have.” His tone was cold, dismissive. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll let you leave. This isn’t about love, Julia. It never was.”

Her lips parted in shock, but he continued before she could respond.

“You are mine. My wife. My duchess. You belong to me, whether you like it or not. And I will not allow you to walk away from that. If you try—” He took another step forward, his voice lowering to a menacing whisper. “I will make sure you regret it.”

Her breath hitched, and for the first time, he saw true fear flash in her eyes. “Arthur, you can’t—”

“I can,” he interrupted, his voice as sharp as a blade. “You think you can leave this estate? That you can walk out and be free?” He shook his head, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll stay. And if you try to run, I will lock you in this house and throw away the key. No one will ever hear from you again.”

She took a step back, her face pale, her hands trembling now. “You’re insane.”

“No, Julia. I’m realistic,” he said softly, closing the gap between them. His fingers brushed her arm, and she flinched, but he didn’t tighten his grip—yet. “This is how the world works. You don’t get to make demands. You don’t get to decide when this ends. You will stay because I say so. And if you don’t—” He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, “I will make your life a prison.”

Her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as she stared up at him, the defiance in her eyes fading under the weight of his threat. She knew now, he could see it. There was no escape.

She was trapped.

And he wouldn’t let her forget it.

Julia’s heart pounded in her chest as she moved through the darkened halls of the estate. She had rehearsed every step in her mind a thousand times, mapping out each corridor, every door, every shadow she could hide in. She had waited for this moment, her nerves taut as a bowstring, knowing that if she made even the smallest mistake, it would be over.

Tonight, the house was quiet, still. The usual clamor of servants had faded into the night, leaving the vast corridors empty, save for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the tall windows. Arthur had retreated to his study hours ago, and Julia knew from experience that he wouldn’t emerge until the early hours of the morning.

It was now or never.

She tightened her grip on the small satchel slung over her shoulder, the few belongings she had managed to gather feeling pitiful in comparison to the weight of her escape. But she couldn't afford to take much. Just enough to get away.

The side door near the kitchens—that was her way out. The guards would be patrolling the front gates, and Arthur had locked most of the other exits, but the one leading into the kitchens was left unguarded at night. It was her only chance.

Julia slipped through the hallways like a ghost, her steps light and soundless, each breath calculated as she approached the stairwell leading down to the kitchens. Every second felt agonizingly long, the silence pressing in on her, her heart racing as she strained to hear any sign of movement.

When she reached the door, her hand trembled as she gripped the handle. She paused, her pulse loud in her ears as she fought back the wave of fear threatening to overwhelm her.

Please, let this work.

The door creaked open, and Julia slipped outside into the cool night air. The garden spread out before her, dark and quiet, the trees swaying gently in the breeze. She could see the perimeter of the estate in the distance, the tall stone walls looming like a reminder of how far she still had to go.

But it didn’t matter. She was out. She was free.

Keeping low to the ground, she hurried toward the stables. If she could just reach the stables, she could steal one of the horses and make her way to the nearest village. From there, she would find a way to disappear. She had thought it all through.

But the further she ran, the more her hope grew. Each step carried her closer to the edge of the estate, to the life she could still reclaim. She could taste freedom in the cool night air.

Then, a voice shattered the silence.

“Going somewhere, Julia?”

She froze, the blood draining from her face. The satchel slipped from her shoulder and fell to the ground, the soft thud echoing in the night. Slowly, she turned.

Arthur stood a few feet away, his face cast in shadow, but there was no mistaking the fury in his eyes. The moonlight glinted off his figure, tall and imposing, and Julia’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t heard him, hadn’t even sensed his presence.

He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. “I warned you,” he said, his voice low, each word laced with barely contained rage. “Did you really think you could run?”

“I...” Julia’s voice faltered, her mouth dry as her mind scrambled for a way out. But there was no way out. He had caught her. He had been waiting for her.

Arthur’s lips curled into a cruel smile as he closed the distance between them. “You always were so predictable.” His hand shot out, gripping her arm with bruising force. Julia flinched, pain shooting up her arm, but she didn’t dare struggle.

“I should’ve known,” he continued, his tone almost mocking now. “You’re not smart enough to be subtle, are you?”

Her breath came in sharp, panicked gasps as she tried to pull away, but Arthur’s grip only tightened. “Let go of me,” she managed, her voice shaking. “I won’t stay here. I can’t—”

“You don’t have a choice,” he snapped, yanking her closer so that his face was inches from hers. His eyes burned with cold fury, his breath hot against her skin. “Did you think I wouldn’t know? That I wouldn’t see this coming?”

Julia’s heart hammered in her chest. She had planned so carefully, timed everything so perfectly. But none of that mattered now. He had been watching her the whole time. She could see it in his eyes—the smug satisfaction of a man who had never truly lost control.

“I won’t be your prisoner,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I won’t let you keep me here.”

Arthur’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. “You already are, Julia. You’ve been my prisoner since the day we married. You just didn’t realize it.”

Her stomach twisted as the weight of his words settled in. The life she had once believed was hers had been nothing more than an illusion. Every step she had taken, every decision she had made, had been under his watchful eye.

“Now,” Arthur continued, his grip unrelenting, “you’re going to come back inside. And if you ever try something like this again—” His voice dropped to a menacing whisper, “I will make sure you never leave these walls again.”

Julia swallowed, fear and desperation coiling inside her like a venomous snake. “You can’t do this.”

“I already have.”

With one final, brutal tug, Arthur turned her toward the house, dragging her back across the darkened garden toward the estate. Julia’s mind raced, her limbs heavy with the crushing weight of defeat. She had failed. The freedom she had tasted for a brief, fleeting moment was gone, replaced by the cold, suffocating reality of her cage.

She was trapped.

And this time, there would be no escape.