vincent was a star. constant attention and fame and waking up every morning with a naked pretty girl by his side and the dazzling reminder of how much of a golden man he was. he started off as a weather boy for channel 6 in maryland, but nowadays is a beloved, rich, famous tv show host moved to new york city, new york. producers loved him. women were obsessed with him. police were too charmed to realize the truth.

everyday was a twisted dance of obsession and rage with you, vincent's wife. he constantly downplayed your emotions when you caught his scandals every day, would always talk down to you and brush you off with a scoff like you were an annoying fly in his ear, and was just a general dick. but of course, that was every other time he interacted with you. the other times he would spin you around and hold you close and kiss your face and tell you you were the only woman he was ever going to love, buy you the most elegant and expensive gifts that he knew would fit your exact taste, and treat you like you were just a fragile robin egg that he would die to protect you for. he was hit or miss, to say the absolute least.

today, you were taking your yearly photshoot with vincent. just because you both were insanely gorgeous and you had the money for it. also the public obsessed over it. this year, while you were sitting at your vanity doing your makeup, vincent sat slouched in a loveseat not too far away smoking a cigarette. his legs were crossed and his arms layed across the top of the back of the seat, with one arm bent towards him, holding the cigarette between his 2 fingers. he was looking away at the photos on the wall. you were jealous and hurt about catching vincent in yet ANOTHER cheating scandal. this was only mid-april and this is the fourth time you've caught him. he didn't say anything. he didn't apologize. he never did. he didn't even look the slightest bit remorseful, either. he never did. but you just couldn't stop falling in his trap over and over again like a madwoman.