The first day of the thirty-day punishment dawned bright and merciless.

Egon woke alone in the guest.

The sheets were cold, the room silent except for the distant chime of the household bells calling servants to morning duties.

There was no warm bodies pressed against him. No soft breathing on his neck. No teasing fingers or sleepy murmurs. Just emptiness.

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, cock already half-hard from dreams of last night’s frenzy. He refused to touch it. Let the suffering build. Let it remind him what he had promised to endure.

He rose, splashed cold water on his face from the basin, dressed in plain black training clothes, and headed out.

Krag and Mara already waited with the twelve combat slaves. They stood in neat rows, freshly armed with standard-issue swords and light leather armor.

Krag stepped forward. "Morning, my lord. Ready for drills?"

Egon nodded. "Start with footwork. No blades yet. I want precision before power."

He joined the line himself, moving through basic stances and correcting postures with sharp commands.

"Back straight, Kiara. You’re leaning forward. Weight on the balls of your feet, not the heels."

"Better. Again. Faster."

Sweat soaked his shirt within twenty minutes. Muscles burned. The physical effort helped dull the throbbing need between his legs, if only a little.

After an hour he dismissed them to breakfast.

"Rest everyone. We will resume at noon with real weapons."

Krag lingered, "You’re pushing yourself harder than us today. Is it because of you and your wives? "

Egon wiped his face with the hem of his shirt. "No. I have other reasons."

Krag grunted, not pressing further.

After that, Egon walked straight to the Flower Garden.

The boutique doors stood open, morning light flooding the polished floors. Lira, Tobin, Seline, Master Corvin, and Maraelle were already inside, unpacking new shipments.

Lira looked up first. "My lord. You’re early. The event will begin in the evening."

"I know Lira. I just want to check everything myself."

He moved methodically through the shop.

First the dresses. He lifted a sapphire wrap style from the rack, ran his fingers over the silk. They were cool to the touch, because cooling runes lworked perfectly.

"Tobin, hem on this one is uneven. Fix it before display."

"Yes, my lord."

Next the creams. He opened a moisturizer jar, rubbed a generous amount into the back of his hand. Absorbed in seconds. Skin felt plump, soft.

"Seline, double-check the sunscreen batch. I want full mana-burn protection confirmed."

"Um, we already did three tests this morning, my Lord. There’s no problem."

"Then you did good."

Men’s trousers next. He pulled on a black pair over his training pants, drew an imaginary sword. Fabric moved with him—no drag, no bind.

"Corvin, reinforce the crotch seams on the next run. I don’t want complaints from fighters."

"Will do."

Nexy, Jewelries. He lifted a moon ear cuff, held it to the light. Gem caught fire.

"Maraelle, these are flawless. Put the entire collection front and center tonight."

By early afternoon he had inspected every rack, every jar, every chain. Satisfied, he retreated to the small office at the back, reviewed papers, signed orders for tripled silk shipments, approved a second loom purchase.

His cock stayed hard the entire time as a painful reminder whenever he moved in the chair.

He ignored it.

At four he changed into a charcoal suit.

The doors opened at six.

Crowd arrived in waves.

Nobles ladies firsr in outdated heavy gowns eyeing the flowing samples with open envy.

Husbands trailing, already fingering the men’s trousers.

Then merchants, Soul Evolvers in practical gear, even a few arena fighters who had heard rumors.

A noblewoman in her forties lifted an emerald wrap dress.

"No corset?"

Lira smiled. "None needed, madam. Cooling runes, hidden pocket, perfect drape. Try it."

The woman vanished into the fitting room.

She emerged minutes later with silk hugging her curves, thigh slit flashing leg, posture relaxed for the first time in years.

"I feel... free. How much is it?"

"Madam, its twenty gold for today’s promotional discount," Tobin said. "Normally it’s thirty-five."

"Great. I need three. Sapphire, rose, cream. And the moon ear cuffs."

A Soul Evolver in scarred leather tested black trousers.

"Draw your blade."

The man did. Fabric stretched smoothly. He swung twice.

"God, they are excellent. I want three pairs. Black, gray, navy."

A merchant’s wife opened a cream jar. She tasted it by rubbing on her own skin.

She was already over the moon by the effect.

"This is the finest beaury product on the market. It absorbs instantly. No grease. My skin feels alive."

Seline nodded. "We ecreated them Starbloom and lily root?"

"I need six packs. Wrap them."

The quartet played. People moved, touched, tried, bought.

A young nobleman in a new white shirt rolled the sleeves.

"Feels like nothing. I could even fight in this."

Master Corvin grunted approval. "Yes, you can, Sire. It’s reinforced so it Won’t tear so easily.

"Then I need three shirts and two trousers."

By eight the shop overflowed.

Orders piled up, and dresses flew off racks, creams vanishing from shelves, jewelry trays vanishing at a crazy rate.

Egon moved through the crowd, answering questions.

"Sir, the sunscreen. Is it mana-burn proof?"

"Yes. It was tested on hide under full sun-mana exposure. No damage."

"I’ll take ten then."

A grizzled fighter clapped Egon’s shoulder.

"You’re the one who married the Castros girls?"

Egon met his eyes. "I am."

"Thought you’d be soft.But you move like a fighter."

"I was a combat slave before I was anything else."

The man grinned. "Respect."

Near 7 PM, Vienna and Noella arrived.

Vienna in emerald dress, deep V, thigh slit. Noella in midnight blue, off-shoulder, high-low hem.

With their presences, the room hushed.

Then came applause. warm, genuine.

"Clap, clap, clapp!"

Vienna stepped to the small platform.

"Thank you for coming. The Flower Garden presents our new line for comfort, beauty, freedom. No more pain for fashion. No more hiding strength."

Noella joined her.

"Try everything, dear customers. The promotional prices will end tonight."

Crowd buzzed.

Sales exploded.

With arms crossed, Egon watched from the sideline

Vienna went near him gracefully. "So, our husband really managed to hold on the first day..."

"Yes, I did. And I will continue to endure, until I make amends for my mistake. Love cannot be forced. I will earn it."

--

The first promotional event had barely ended when the whispers started spreading through Dolan City’s merchant quarter like wildfire.

All of a sudden, a woman stepped inside.

She was tall, late thirties, raven hair pinned in an elaborate twist, dressed in a charcoal gown edged with crimson thread.

She carried herself like someone used to being obeyed. Behind her trailed two assistants. One carrying a leather ledger, the other holding a silk parasol even though the sun was still low.

Lira stiffened. "Lady Seraphine Veyle."

Egon looked up. He had heard the name before. She was the owner of Veyle Silks, the oldest and most prestigious fashion house in the eastern district. Their gowns were the kind noblewomen wore to court balls: heavy brocade, corseted waists, layered skirts that cost more than most people earned in a year.

Seraphine didn’t smile. She scanned the new displays, light fabrics, simple jewelry trays with interest.

"So this is the little revolution everyone is chattering about. Wrap dresses. Cooling silk. Sunscreen creams. How Marvelous."

Egon set the ledger down and stepped forward.

"Lady Veyle. Welcome to the Flower Garden."

She tilted her head, studying him the way one studies a mildly interesting insect.

"Ah, you are the former slave who married two Castros heiresses and somehow convinced half the city to buy trousers without boning. Impressive. Or perhaps merely fortunate timing."

Noella appeared from the back office, arms crossed.

"Fortunate timing doesn’t sell three hundred pieces in one night, Lady Veyle. Comfort does."

Seraphine’s gaze flicked to Noella, then back to Egon.

"Comfort," she repeated, tasting the word like sour wine. "How novel. My clients prefer elegance. Prestige. A gown that announces status the moment one enters a room. Not... this peasant.

Vienna emerged next, still in yesterday’s emerald wrap dress, thigh slit flashing as she walked. She stopped beside Egon, chin high.

"Then perhaps your clients are tired of fainting at balls because their corsets won’t let them breathe," she said coolly. "Or maybe they’ve simply discovered they can look beautiful without suffering for it."