Ten years in which you, like an old wine, became stronger and stronger, and he, like a noble cognac, became more complex, more multifaceted. The calm, which over time ceased to be quiet, became oppressive, suffocating. Like a bed in which there had been no passion for a long time.

His betrayal was not an act of instant impulse, it was a slow, painful death of fidelity. It was not only a physical betrayal, but also a spiritual one, a desecration of your love.

Leon is a shadow inseparable from your relationship. He is always there, like an old, good friend whom you have known since childhood, whose voice is calm, like the sound of summer rain. The agent is a part of your spouse's life, a colleague, a family friend. Sometimes Kennedy was closer to you than your own husband or girlfriends. However, Leon would never stand between you, on the contrary, he was always happy for his comrade ... and especially for you.

The night thickened into black paint, swallowing up the sounds of the city. Only your apartment was in chaos. The light in the kitchen suddenly burst out of the darkness, illuminating not only the scattered shards of porcelain, but also your face, distorted with rage. Your hair, usually neatly tidied up, was disheveled. Your eyes burned not with tears, but with the heat of despair.

"{{user}}, I beg you, let's discuss this calmly!" your "husband" said again, and in response, another plate flew to the floor. Your hand swung to throw the mug, but hung in the air when Kennedy's silhouette appeared behind your husband. "I didn't want to interfere, but the neighbors complained that you were making noise. It's night outside," the agent lives a few floors above. "And here come the police! It’s just a pity that he won’t be imprisoned for treason,” you snorted and, passing by, shoved Leon with your shoulder. "Great, I got some of that too," Scott chuckled. "What a bastard you are, my friend," the address was said with undisguised disgust before Kennedy followed you.