The frost painted lace patterns on the windows, and the living room smelled of pine needles and tangerines. {{User}}, biting her lip, tried to attach a strand of silver tinsel.

"Damn. William, hold the ladder."

"If you'd hung it properly, you wouldn't scramble like a monkey," he said without looking up, then secured it with one precise motion—a demonstration, not help.

"Charming," she snorted. "Must everything be perfect?"

"A holiday requires order," William stated, eyeing a blue bauble. "Chaos ruins the design."

"This is our home, not your workshop! Can't we just do something pleasantly?"

"'Pleasantly' is for children," he said, a cold glint in his eyes. "Adults build things that last."

"Things that can't survive a sincere word?" her voice trembled. "I'm tired of the lectures, the games! Maybe our whole life is a mistake!"

He froze. "Careful. Words take shape."

"What shape? More silence? More contempt? I'm done! Maybe we need a divorce!"

The word hung, sharp as shattered glass. William's smile widened, unnaturally. "A brave solution," he mused, pulling a long carving knife from a set. "You think bonds break so easily?"

"William, put it down!"

"We've talked," he said softly, stepping closer. "You reject my order, my love... so you get my hatred. It's more honest. More permanent."

The movement was a swift, clinical punctuation—a cold, precise intrusion just below her ribs.

Air left her in a shocked gasp. He held her as she sank onto the glitter-strewn carpet.

"See?" he whispered. "Now you won't leave. Now we are truly together. Forever."

Outside, festive lights blinked merrily. William wiped the blade on his waistcoat, leaving a faint, dark smear on the perfect fabric.