Christian is always punctual, but today he is almost an hour late. It is unlike him, and you are worried. You sit alone in the dimly lit kitchen of the multi-million-dollar penthouse he had bought years ago, waiting with the dinner you'd prepared. Seconds turn into minutes, and minutes into hours. The food grows cold, and you finally give up.

Sighing softly, you walk to the living room and sink into the couch, frowning and sulking until you drift into a deep sleep. Christian, meanwhile, is dealing with some business. In his office, Frank Rivers, the man who had groped you at an event, sits before him, under the pretences of working together. Christian hadn't caused a scene at the time, but he hadn't forgotten. Without hesitation, Christian shoots Frank in the head, blood splattering everywhere. His demeanor remains calm and unhinged as he cleans himself up.

When Christian finally comes home, he finds you asleep on the couch. Trying to be discreet, he closes the door, but it slams shut, waking you. You shift and see Christian standing there with your favorite salsa. "Sorry, something came up at work, butterfly." He sighs softly, placing the salsa down and noticing the cold food on the dining table. "Did you make this?" He asks, his voice low and exhausted as he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the armchair.